


Nature Points the Way

by GreenArcher



Series: All That Might Have Been [2]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: 18th Century, Accidental Kissing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Sexual Situations, Catholicism, Diary/Journal, F/M, Feminist Themes, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Illnesses, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, POV Third Person Omniscient, References to Shakespeare, Sequel, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24509146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenArcher/pseuds/GreenArcher
Summary: After five years of separation, Belle and her prince must learn to open their hearts to each other once again. Mini-sequel toThe Master of My Fate.
Relationships: Adam/Belle (Disney), Beast/Belle (Disney), Lumiere/Plumette (Disney)
Series: All That Might Have Been [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806334
Comments: 18
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned in my summary, this story is a sequel to my 2017 AU fic _The Master of My Fate_ and begins straight after the events of the epilogue. You will need to read that story first to understand this one.
> 
> To returning readers: Welcome back! I don't want to give too much away about this story, but will say that it will be shorter and lighter in tone than TMOMF, with a primary focus on bringing a resolution to Belle and Adam's relationship. I wrote the first five chapters while I was staying at home during the COVID-19 pandemic, and plan to write the rest whenever I can find time between working full-time. Please be patient with me during this process.
> 
> A special thank you to [CarolNJoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolNJoy/pseuds/CarolNJoy) and [LovelyLadyAllie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyLadyAllie/pseuds/LovelyLadyAllie) for beta-ing my chapters and making them as shipshape as possible. 
> 
> And now, on with the show!

Maurice returned to Villeneuve the following evening. Despite having sold most of his wares at the market, his heart was heavy with disappointment. Once Belle had helped him unload, they went inside for dinner, and he promptly explained why.

"The windmill box broke just when I arrived in La Fontaine. I hit a bump in the road and it fell out of the wagon. It smashed straight against the cobblestones. By the time I was able to get it back from all the feet and hooves that had trampled on it, it was pretty well done for."

"Oh Papa, that's terrible!" Belle said, frowning at him in sympathy. "You worked so hard on that one too."

"Yes, well there's no use crying for shed milk, my dear. I doubt I would have gotten a good price for it anyway. It turns out that merchants aren't interested in purchasing music boxes with dioramas of domestic life anymore. Pastoral landscapes and scenes from Greek mythology are all collectors care about now. I only wish I'd known that before I started the blasted thing." He shook his head and sighed.

Belle reached across the table and patted her father's hand consolingly. One of the challenges of living in a rural town was that news took twice as long to travel here as it did in the major cities. Whenever new art trends hit the markets, Maurice was the last to know about them. It was why he often said that making money as a country artist was like shooting a pistol blind, with no guarantee that you'd ever hit your intended mark. Of course, the easiest solution would be to move to a city, but Maurice claimed he liked it better here because it was "safer." Belle had questioned this statement on several occasions, but kept her thoughts to herself, knowing she'd get nowhere if she tried voicing them aloud.

"Anyway," Maurice continued, waving his hand dismissively, "I've already ordered the replacement parts I need, so no harm done. I just need to wait for them to arrive in the post so I can start the repairs. In the meantime, I'm going to work on some simpler boxes, seeing as the windmill may not sell as well as I'd hoped."

"I _know_ you'll fetch a good price for it, Papa," said Belle, with the unwavering confidence she had always had in him. "Nobody puts as much time and detail into your work as you do. These merchants would have to be fools not to recognize your talent."

"I hope you're right," Maurice said with an appreciative smile. "I certainly wouldn't say no to a bit of recognition after all these years. And I also know how long you've been waiting to move out of Villeneuve so we can start our next adventure. Believe me, that day will come sooner than you think. I'll find a way to get us that money, even if I have to take my business to our neighbours. Say, you don't suppose that Gaston fellow would like a portrait commission, do you?" His eyes twinkled mischievously.

Belle snorted. "To be honest, I don't think he'd be able to hold _still_ for that long. He can't even walk through the village square without stopping to preen himself and admire his reflection. He'd make a _terrible_ model."

"Good point. I won't ask him then." Her father was trying to lighten the mood, and Belle appreciated it. After the humiliating ordeal she'd faced in the village square a day ago, she too was praying for an opportunity to leave this town; sooner rather than later.

"So," Maurice continued after taking a few bites out of the roast chicken dinner his daughter had made for him. "Anything interesting happen while I was away?"

"Well… I got a new book." Belle paused for a moment, then added, "I also went to the Château de la Rose yesterday to speak with the Prince." She hesitated again, feeling a bit embarrassed disclosing the rest. But she'd never hidden anything from her father and wasn't about to start now. "And..." she continued, "he asked me to stay for dinner."

Maurice spat out the water he'd been drinking from his cup, causing Belle to duck out of the way to narrowly avoid getting sprayed in the face. "You ate dinner with _the Prince?"_ he gasped, staring at her in disbelief.

"I know it sounds absurd, Papa, but it's true!" Unable to contain her eagerness, she described the event from start to finish: Mr. Potts's suggestion that she speak with the Prince about reforming the schooling system in her village, getting a ride to the castle, meeting with His Highness, talking with him over dinner about her interests in reading and Shakespeare…

"By Jove," Maurice remarked once she had finished. "I had no idea that Prince Adam was in the habit of treating his subjects so generously."

"I didn't know either," Belle concurred. "But I mean… I'm sure that his reasons for doing so were harmless. He just wanted to get to know me better so he could understand why I wanted the village girls to attend school with the boys. That's all."

"Or… maybe he fancies you," Maurice suggested with a smirk.

Belle laughed and lowered her eyes, uncomfortable with the idea. "I doubt that. Just think of how many people he interacts with in a single day. I'm sure he's already forgotten my name."

Even as she said it, Belle didn't completely believe it. She had been thinking a lot about that strange connection she'd felt with Prince Adam last evening, and whether she'd ever experience that kind of closeness with someone again. At the same time, a part of her worried that their bond had been a figment of her imagination. After all, the Prince could have only been _acting_ nice to her because he'd felt bad for her situation and the efforts she'd taken to seek an audience with him. And maybe she'd been overly excited about speaking with someone who didn't think she was odd for having hobbies like reading and inventing. While Belle considered herself perceptive, she also knew that her ability to read people and situations wasn't entirely perfect.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. "I'll get it!" Belle volunteered, who was sitting closest to the front of the cottage.

Opening the door, she was met by a young man dressed in a gold and brown suit, not unlike the one she'd seen Lumière and Cogsworth wearing when she'd visited the castle the day before. _"Bonsoir,_ mademoiselle," the man said, stooping himself down into a low bow. "I have an invitation here for a Mademoiselle Belle Gagnier?"

"That would be me," said Belle, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion.

 _"Parfait."_ Smiling, the man handed her an envelope with a seal bearing the Prince's royal crest. "On behalf of my master, Prince Adam de Bauffremont, your presence has been requested at an exclusive formal gathering."

"It has?" Belle took the envelope from the man in surprise. "What sort of gathering?"

"A summer solstice party, mademoiselle. The Prince hosts one every year for the nobility in the area, and for you too, it would seem. You'll find all the necessary information written inside the envelope."

"I see." She bit her lip thoughtfully. "Well, thank you very much, monsieur."

"My pleasure. _Passez une bonne soirée."_ The man tipped his hat and made his way back down the porch. Puzzled, and half-wondering if this was some kind of hoax, Belle shut the door and returned to her father.

"Who was that, Belle?" Maurice asked curiously.

"It was a messenger from the castle. He... just gave me an invitation to Prince Adam's summer solstice party."

"Really?" He raised his brows intriguingly. "But I thought you said that the Prince has already forgotten your name."

"I guess I thought wrong." Overcome by curiosity, Belle broke open the seal and unfolded the parchment to reveal a letter written in beautiful calligraphy. Holding it close to the candle on the table, she read:

 _His Royal Highness, Prince Adam de Bauffremont kindly requests the company of Mademoiselle Belle Gagnier in a celebration of the upcoming summer solstice, scheduled to take place in the grounds of the Château de la Rose on the 20_ _th_ _of June at three o'clock in the afternoon. Please retain this invitation to present to the concierge upon your arrival._

_Cordially,_

_Robert-Alexis LePlume, Official Secretary to His Royal Highness_

Belle couldn't believe her eyes. The letter _seemed_ genuine, but she was still confused. What could have possibly possessed the Prince to invite _her_ to his party, of all people?

* * *

"You did _what?!_ What could have possibly possessed you to invite _her_ _?"_

"I'm sorry, Master," said Lumière. He stood in the doorway of the Prince's bureau, trying to look innocent, but failing. "I was under the assumption that you would look forward to her company again. Was I mistaken?"

Adam ran his hand through his hair and shook his head, appalled by his maître d's clear lack of seriousness in the matter. "The summer solstice party has always been an exclusive royal function, Lumière. Nobility from all over this side of France will be attending. No one in my family has invited anyone from the lower class to attend since well… _ever."_

"All the more reason for you to break with tradition." Lumière grinned. "Besides, I doubt that your stellar reputation will be marred by the presence of _one_ peasant girl. And you did pay quite a bit of attention to her when she came to speak with you earlier this week."

Adam's face flushed at Lumière's insinuation. It seemed that there were no secrets when it came to his resident "love expert"—a fact that he found to be more of a hindrance than a help. "My reasons for inviting Mademoiselle Gagnier to dine with me were strictly professional," he justified, not in the mood for revealing his true feelings on the matter. "She had some good ideas on how to make education more accessible to the girls in her village, and I wanted to hear them."

 _"Je vois._ And yet… you've never invited a subject to dinner before, or arranged a carriage to take them home after," Lumière noted. "Come now, Master. The truth is, the other staff members and I are getting worried about you. You're nearly twenty-six years old and you're always so focused on your work. You never have time to relax or socialize the way you used to. I'm not saying that your strong work ethic isn't a welcome improvement from well… _before._ But if you keep this up, you'll become a stuffy shut-in, just like Cogsworth! What's the harm in taking a bit of time to focus on something outside of drafting bylaws or addressing complaints from your subjects? Even the Emperor of France takes a day off from his duties from time to time."

"I'm not a shut-in!" Adam protested. "I just… prefer working alone in my bureau to socializing with other people. That's all."

"Sounds like the textbook definition of a shut-in to me." Lumière smirked. "Look, Master. I'm not saying you have to fall _in love_ with the girl. But at least give her a chance, _peut-être?_ According to Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth, she is quite the conversation piece in her village. Keep her around, and maybe you'll find out why."

Adam groaned. If only Lumière knew the real reason why he didn't want to "get to know" Belle better: he was already familiar with her outcast status, and how falling in love with her was not only inevitable, but a death wish. All of his past attempts at wooing Belle had ended in misery and destruction, which was why he had to burn that bridge while he still had the chance. But the fact remained: Lumière had sent her an invitation. And as embarrassed as Adam was by his servant's impudence, he'd look like even more of a fool if he wrote her a second letter, explaining the mix-up. He would simply have to act like her invitation had been intentional, treating Belle as any other party guest.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have her, _if_ she comes," he conceded. "But Lumière, pull a stunt like this again, and I swear… I'll make you put all the lights off in the castle for a _week."_

 _"Me_ , Master?" Lumière pointed to himself, puzzled by the Prince's unusual choice of punishment.

"Yes, you. Now tell Mrs. Potts I'll be down to take my luncheon at one o'clock. You may go."

Still confused, Lumière bowed to the Prince and left the room.

Once he was gone, Adam crossed his arms and turned his gaze to the window. He still needed to finish up his paperwork for the morning but felt too restless to continue after what his maître d' had told him.

It had been over five years since Agathe had restored Adam to his humanity and his original timeline. Since then, the Prince had done his best to put the experiences of his alternate realities behind him, taking what he'd learned from the past to improve his future. Sure, maybe he still dreamt about Belle some nights and wondered what she was doing in Picardy, then Villeneuve. As a prince, he had full access to the kingdom's census records, meaning he'd known exactly when she and her father had moved to the little village two years prior. But he dismissed all these habits and thoughts as harmless behaviours, nothing that years of distractions and royal commitments couldn't stamp out of him. Belle would fall in love with a man who was truly her equal, and Adam would be at peace, knowing he'd helped make that life a reality for her. As long as she was happy, then so was he.

But then, Belle had made a surprise visit to his bureau two days ago. All of Adam's hard-built convictions came crumbling to dust. For a moment, he'd feared that her appearance was a trick of the Enchantress, come to torment him again after all these years. It was only after Belle had addressed him with an uncharacteristically stilted formality that he realized she didn't recognize him. This fact had disappointed him, but also comforted him. For if Belle didn't remember him, then that meant that Agathe had kept her promise. Their days of passing time together in the castle and embarking on their perilous journey to Brocéliande were nothing more than inconsequential dreams.

And so, Adam played along with Belle's obliviousness. Throughout their meeting and subsequent interview, he'd tried not to overstep any boundaries, or betray anything in his countenance to reveal how well he already knew her. When he invited her to dinner, it was out of courteousness, not affection. He'd done nothing beyond what had been expected of him as a gentleman and host of his castle. At least... that's what he kept telling himself.

Adam would never forgive Lumière for sending Belle that party invitation without his permission. But he was certain she wouldn't want to come. She'd _hated_ being a "charity case" at Princess Amandine's birthday ball, so why would she feel any differently about attending this aristocrat-only function he was hosting? She would surely decline his invitation, and then they'd continue to live their lives as distant acquaintances. Adam refused to interfere with whatever fate had planned for Belle, regardless of Lumière's sly attempts at playing matchmaker.


	2. Chapter 2

Taking a deep breath, Belle opened the door to Madame Fayette's dress boutique. A bell jingled as she stepped inside, doing nothing to ease her addled nerves. _I guess there's no turning back now_.

Belle had never been to her local dress shop before. This was because she normally made her own clothes or mended and repurposed the ones she'd bought from the previous villages she'd lived in with her father. As a result, she was completely unprepared for the sight that awaited her: a trapezoid-shaped room filled with lace bonnets, fancy handbags, powdered wigs, shelves of fabric and spools of ribbon in nearly every colour and pattern imaginable. A handful of mannequins in flamboyant-looking dresses had been placed around the floor, meant to give customers a sample of the clothes their seamstresses could make. Belle found the setup to be dazzling, but at the same time, overwhelming. In the past, she'd lived in towns where the only place to buy material for clothing was the general store. The selections would be limited to a small corner of the shop, and the fabrics sold would be plain and practical, as needed for everyday use. This place looked like a closet for a princess in comparison.

Suddenly, one of Madame Fayette's daughters emerged from the backroom behind the counter. As was her habit, she was wearing enough makeup to pass for a doll and a pink frilly dress that would have made her blend in easily with the mannequins on the floor. Upon seeing who her customer was, she frowned and crossed her arms over her chest in a condescending manner.

"Well now. If it isn't Mademoiselle _Rat de Bibliothèque,_ come to grace us with her presence."

Belle grimaced. Her first instinct was to respond with a snarky comment of her own, but then she remembered that she was here to do business. That meant swallowing her pride and trying not to do anything that would cause a scene… for once. "Bonjour… Marie-Élise," she said, praying she got the girl's name right. The Fayette triplets weren't identical, but Belle had never known them well enough to tell who was who.

The seamstress rolled her eyes. "It's Marie- _Éliane_. But call me Éliane, for goodness' sake. I don't know what my parents were thinking, giving me and my sisters the same first name."

"Oh." Belle didn't know how to respond to that. She'd known many Maries in her life, which was why she was grateful that her parents had given her the Christian name of Anne-Isabelle instead. It wasn't an exceedingly rare name combination, though she much preferred it to Marie, Catherine, or Thérèse. _Still,_ she thought, _having the name of one of the most revered saints in France is no reason to be unpleasant to other people._

"Is your mother here?" she continued hesitantly. "I was hoping to have a word with her."

"What about?" Éliane asked, raising one of her dark brows suspiciously.

"About… getting a new dress?"

Éliane snorted. "Are you sure you're in the right store? I don't think we carry the dresses you're looking for here. See, we only sell things that _real_ women of class would want to wear. Not homely pinafore dresses with your skirt hiked up to your waist so everyone can see your pantaloons." She gestured to Belle's own dress to make her point.

Belle clenched her jaw indignantly. She had a good reason for keeping her skirt tucked up as high as she did, though she doubted that sharing that reason with Éliane would do any wonders for their relationship. She took a moment to compose herself before curtly responding, "For your information, Éliane, I've come here to get a dress to wear to a party Prince Adam has invited me to. Your mother did say she'd give me a discount if I ever wanted to buy one from her."

"Prince Adam invited _you_ to one of his parties?" Éliane looked at Belle skeptically, then stifled a laugh. "Oh, that's a good one! Let me guess. Next you'll be telling me that some fairy godmother came to you in a dream and told you you're the lost princess of a nonsensical kingdom. _Dieu ait pitié."_

Belle sighed. Maybe it would be better to get hold of Madame Fayette another way. This conversation was going nowhere fast and her urge to flick some dirt into Éliane's eye was growing stronger by the second.

But then, to her tremendous relief, the old seamstress emerged from the backroom, carrying a roll of colourful fabric in her arms. "Ah, Belle!" she exclaimed, addressing her new customer with a friendly smile. "So good to see you! Marie-Éliane"—she nodded to her daughter—"Put this roll of Damask up on the empty shelf by the window for me, please."

Éliane rolled her eyes but took the fabric from her mother to do what she had asked. With Miss "Wicked Stepsister" out of the way, Belle now had Madame Fayette's fully undivided attention.

"And what can I do for you today?" Madame Fayette asked, clasping her hands in front of her amicably. "If you're looking for some ribbons, all our orange ones are twenty percent off until the end of this week."

 _"Merci,_ Madame Fayette." Belle returned the seamstress's smile, albeit nervously. "Only… I'm not here to buy ribbons. I just received an invitation to attend a summer solstice party at the Château de la Rose, and well… I'm afraid I don't have anything suitable to wear. You once said that you'd make me a dress at a reduced price if I ever needed one. Could I still take you up on that offer? I promise I'll pay whatever it costs you to make it."

"Absolutely, my dear," Madame Fayette replied, looking pleased and a little surprised by Belle's request. "But for a party at the castle, you say? That's certainly a tall order to fill in such a short time! Why the summer solstice is less than three weeks away."

"I know, and I'm sorry for the short notice." Belle bowed her head apologetically. "I only got my invitation last night. But it doesn't have to be anything too fancy or time-consuming to make. Just something that will look… better than what I'm already wearing, that's all."

"Well..." Madame Fayette considered Belle's offer, perching her chin on her hands thoughtfully. "I suppose I _could_ put something together that fits that description." She turned her attention to a book on the counter and flipped through it intently. "This book is full of sewing patterns for all sorts of dresses that have come in fashion this past decade. I've yet to find a design in here that I can't make myself. Personally, I think that a bodice with a square neckline would look very becoming on you. And then we could pair it with a layered skirt with ruffled trims. Maybe add a pannier underneath for good measure. Thank goodness I still have some in stock."

"That sounds brilliant," Belle agreed, who only had half an idea of what the seamstress was talking about. "There's just one thing, madame. I don't plan on wearing stays."

 _"No_ stays?" Madame Fayette looked up at Belle in shock, as though she had uttered something highly blasphemous. "Whyever not? They're practically a requirement for a young lady who's going to be socializing with the Prince and the other members of upper-class society. You _have_ to wear them!"

Belle nervously fidgeted with her hands. She knew that her idea to go without stays was bound to raise a few eyebrows, but since when had she ever stuck to convention? It wasn't like "you must wear stays" had been written on her party invitation. And as a farm girl, it seemed unrealistic that she'd be expected to own them anyway. The Fayette sisters wore them sometimes, but that was because they were as vain as peacocks, and their occupation as seamstresses to the townspeople and minor nobility in the area permitted it. They didn't spend their days bending over plants and tinkering with inventions as Belle did. "With all due respect, madame, I'm not terribly fond of stays," she admitted. "They seem so constricting, and well… I honestly think that they're nothing but a recipe for bruised ribs and suffocation."

"Oh really?" Éliane scoffed from behind her. "I bet you're only saying that because you don't have the money to buy them, or the _dugs_ to fill them out."

"Marie-Éliane!" Madame Fayette snapped. "I'll not have you insulting the customers in my shop, thank you very much. Now go to the backroom and fetch me a roll of chintz, please. The one we got in last week should do nicely."

Éliane shot her mother a murderous glance before storming into the backroom. Once she had left, Madame Fayette shook her head and sighed. "I'm so sorry about that, dear. I really don't understand my girls sometimes. I make them the best dresses in town, I teach them how to sew, knit, embroider, and crochet. Not every woman in Villeneuve can boast about having a trade they can make a formal business out of. But despite everything my daughters have been blessed with, they've always been so bitter and unhappy. It makes me glad that there are girls like you in the world, who know how to act as nicely as you look."

"You give me too much credit, Madame Fayette," Belle said, cheeks burning faintly at the compliment. "Just because I seem 'nice' doesn't mean that I'm not without my faults."

"Ah, but the Lord looks favourably on those who are humble, charitable and submissive in spirit, dear," Madame Fayette replied with a smile. "Don't you forget that. I suppose I can modify the gown to fit with a chemise or a _robe battante_ if you aren't keen on wearing stays. But you'll have to come in with the ones you're planning to wear so I can fit the bodice properly."

"Thank you. I'll make time for that for sure." Although Belle still didn't trust the seamstress to overdo her party dress, she felt better in knowing she had agreed to make it without the need of the medieval torture device they called stays.

As Madame Fayette continued to flip through her pattern book, Belle glanced into the backroom, overcome by a deep sense of envy for Éliane and her sisters. She would have given anything to have a mother and siblings to teach her the finer points of sewing, crocheting, embroidering, knitting, and running her own business growing up. So how could a girl who was beautiful and well-provided for be so nasty and unsatisfied with her own economic prospects? It seemed to Belle that some people in this town truly were a mystery.

* * *

With the development of Belle's dress underway, it didn't take long for rumours to spread about her invitation to the Prince's summer solstice party. Belle suspected that Éliane had been the one to spill the beans but knew there was no point in confronting her. In a town where everyone knew each other's business, the truth was bound to have revealed itself one way or another. Still, she couldn't say she enjoyed the reactions she received in the next few days, which seemed to come from two different types of villagers: those who were curious and envious of her situation, and those who were bitter and skeptical, certain that she'd made up the story in a desperate plea for attention.

Elisabetta Guillot, a Corsican woman whom Belle often went to for jams, revealed that she'd always wanted to go to a ball as a little girl and begged Belle to tell her all about it once she got back.

Professeur Doucet, the town bookseller, believed that the party would be a wonderful opportunity for Belle to mingle with some of the brighter and more educated minds of French society. He insisted that she ask the Prince about his library, which was bound to be full of rare books that hadn't circulated the market in years.

As Belle waited outside the bakery for Monsieur Dechesne to bring her some bread rolls, she overheard Madame Vanier and Madame Babineau, two older women of the village, gossiping about her by the fruit stand.

"It's true, Léonie," Madame Babineau was uttering in a faint voice, though still loudly enough for Belle to hear. "His Highness sent Belle an invitation to a party he's hosting at the end of the month. She was the only person in the village to receive one."

 _"Bonté divine!_ Why on earth would he invite _her?"_ Madame Vanier questioned, clucking her tongue in disapproval. "She's already disgraced herself by reading books in public and flaunting her undergarments like a prostitute. In a party of nobles, she'd practically be a laughingstock."

"Maybe she convinced the Prince to invite her," Madame Babineau suggested haughtily. "I heard from Isolde that she went to see him at the castle a few days ago, just before sunset. I reckon she knows her father's art business isn't going to take off, so she made the Prince an offer he couldn't refuse... if you catch my meaning."

Madame Vanier cackled. "With her pretty face and those unholy books she reads, it wouldn't surprise me. It's a shame that Père Robert isn't doing more to curb that unruly behaviour of hers. Doesn't he know that a girl who reads for pleasure is ten times more likely to become a debauchee or be unfaithful to her husband? I'm afraid our little jezebel is going to meet an unfortunate end if she doesn't repent soon."

"I couldn't agree more, _mon amie._ But perhaps her day of reckoning will come sooner than she thinks. If she and the Prince _have_ started some sort of dalliance, I'm sure he'll find her much less appealing once he gets her with child. He'll probably keep her around until the birth, then find an excuse to toss her away like the trash she really is."

At this point, the baker had returned with the bread rolls, and Belle was seething with rage. However, by the time she'd paid Monsieur Dechesne, collected her purchases and turned around to give the old harpies a piece of her mind, they had already left the stand.

But her absolute worst experience came the following afternoon, after finishing her weekly confession with Père Robert. As Belle descended the church's front steps, her mind set on going home to finish reading _Candide,_ she came face to face with Gaston, who immediately flashed her a sickening attempt at a charming smile. Belle rolled her eyes and walked on past him, pretending not to notice. She'd expected the braggart to leave her alone after his failed marriage proposal last week but clearly, his stupidity was not to be underestimated. With a mind full of delusions and an oversized ego, she sometimes wondered how he didn't keel over from the weight of his own big head. _And yet they say_ I'm _a funny girl..._

"I was hoping to run into you, Belle," Gaston began, completely unfazed by her standoffishness as he followed her through the marketplace. "I heard the Prince invited you to his summer solstice party. Congratulations!"

"What do you want, Gaston?" Belle grumbled, hoping to cut this conversation short so she could walk home in peace.

"Why, to extend my compliments to you, of course," he replied with a grin. "It's not every day that one of our own gets invited to the Château de la Rose as a guest. You must be excited. Say, if you need a chaperone for the afternoon, might I suggest allowing _me_ to go with you to the castle?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "You know how... predatory some of these noblemen can be, ruining the virtues of young, innocent peasant girls for sport. They might try to take advantage of you... unless they see you with a strong and capable man like myself."

Belle cringed. Gaston clearly had more than chaperoning her to the castle on his mind. If she let him have his way, he'd likely spend the whole party trying to steal a kiss from her, while telling anyone who'd listen about how their engagement was practically a done deal. Belle felt disgusted just thinking about it. "Why, Gaston, I didn't know you cared so much," she quipped. "But I'm quite capable of handling myself, thanks. And I've already planned to leave with Mr. Potts when he starts his shift for that afternoon, so your escort is hardly necessary."

The conversation should have ended there, but as always, Gaston was annoyingly persistent. "I really wish you'd reconsider, Belle," he said, stepping in front of her to block her path. His formerly good-natured expression had turned stern and serious. "You might regret it later."

"Gaston, get out of my way, please."

"I _know_ you feel something for me," he continued, ignoring her request, "but all these books you're reading... they're stopping you from seeing what's really important. Don't you understand? From the moment I met you, I knew we were meant to be together! All your life you've been dreaming of finding a purpose, and what better purpose than to become the wife of the most handsome and desirable bachelor in Villeneuve? There's nothing I would deny you, no prize I wouldn't bring you if you'd only put aside these ridiculous fantasies and give into me! You and your father would want for nothing."

He fixed her in a needy, imploring gaze which would have made any other woman in town swoon, but not Belle. All she felt was nausea and a desperate need to get as far away from him as possible. _He's really laying it down thick now, isn't he?_

"I'm sorry, Gaston," she said. "But my answer is _no."_

"Come on, Belle. There's no need to be coy. No one says no to Gaston!"

"I believe I just did." Her eyes darted past his shoulder, pretending to notice someone approach them. "Why hello, LeFou! It's so good to see you!"

It worked. Gaston glanced behind, giving Belle just enough time to dart around him before he could realize he'd been tricked. She ran out of the marketplace as quick as a doe, leaving her suitor to recover from his rejection and bruised dignity once again.

* * *

By the time Belle returned to the cottage, she was about ready to toss a shelf's worth of books at Gaston and the villagers from dealing with their insensitive comments all day. She was only grateful that her father was home, as she now had someone to vent her frustrations to instead of suffering in silence.

"I don't think I should go to the party anymore," she confessed as she watched him take apart what was left of his windmill box so he could start his repairs.

"What?" He looked up at her in surprise. "Why not? You've already put the deposit down for your dress, haven't you?"

"Yes, Papa." She bit her lip hesitantly. "It's just that... the people in town have been talking about me recently, and not in a good way."

"They talk about me, too," Maurice pointed out, still not understanding what she was getting at.

"I know, but not like this. This is different." Taking a deep breath, Belle told him about her day in the market, first overhearing Madame Babineau and Madame Vanier gossiping about her and her lack of virtue, then running into Gaston, who'd tried to pressure her into being his wife… _again._ The whole ordeal had left her feeling drained and a little embarrassed. Even after years of learning to turn a deaf ear to other people's comments, there were still some days when she could feel herself slipping back into her old childhood insecurities, like a scab that had never fully healed itself. Today had been one of those days.

After she had finished her venting, Maurice shook his head and snorted. "Sour grapes, the lot of them. They're just jealous that you got an invitation to Prince Adam's party and they didn't. _Of course_ they'd want to make you feel bad about it! But you, my dear, are not going to let their cruel words get to you, because you are your mother's daughter through and through. And remember what I told you about your mother? She was—"

"Fearless," Belle finished. "I know." Recalling their last conversation on the subject brought a small smile to her face. If her mother could defy social expectations while still finding someone who accepted her for who she was, then surely Belle could do the same?

"And just think about it," Maurice added encouragingly. "Even with all those naysayers calling you out for inventing and reading books, the Prince invited _you_ to his party, not them. He obviously saw something special in you that everyone else in this village has failed to notice. That alone should tell you how subjective people's opinions can really be. Pass me that screwdriver over there, would you?"

Belle reached across the table and handed her father the requested tool. "I suppose you're right," she agreed reluctantly. "Still… just thinking about this party gets me into knots. No one I know will be there, except for Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth. Are you sure you don't want to come with me? I think the Prince would understand if I brought you along as my chaperone."

"I appreciate the offer, but I'll pass," Maurice politely declined. "I know you'll do just fine on your own. Besides, my dancing days are far behind me now. And well… something tells me that these aristocrats wouldn't want a man with a dull personality like mine standing around and ruining their afternoon of fun."

"Oh, Papa. You're not dull!" Belle disagreed. "I bet they'll find your occupation as an artist fascinating, given that some of them are art appreciators themselves."

"Believe me, this party is for young people, not old codgers like me," he persisted. "So go on, socialize and enjoy yourself! Maybe you'll meet another nice young nobleman while you're at it. Bonus marks if he's in the market for buying paintings and music boxes like the ones your old man makes." He winked at Belle slyly, causing her to chuckle.

"I'll try to get a good word in for you if I can," she promised. Her father had spent two decades working as a freelancer, so getting a commission from an aristocrat after all these years would be a dream come true for both of them. The money he could make from one painting alone might be enough for them to move out of this provincial town for good.

But beyond giving her father a chance for publicity, Belle saw this party as an opportunity to reconnect with the Prince who'd made her feel like a normal person for the first time in ages. Her desire to find out why he'd invited her overpowered her other insecurities and incited her reasons for wanting to go in the first place. She couldn't help but wonder if he was just as eager to see her again as she was to see him.

* * *

The weeks passed and the gossip about Belle's invitation died down, replaced by news about the Thériault family's newest baby boy, and Lucie Villejoin's engagement to Joël Berger, the son of the local blacksmith. Still, Belle went into the market only when necessary, and only at times when she was least likely to run into Gaston. She kept her conversations with the other villagers to a minimum, except when it was with those she most trusted.

On the day of the Prince's party, Madame Fayette came to Belle's cottage to help her get dressed. Belle appreciated the gesture, as she knew she wouldn't have been able to do it all by herself. Even without stays, there were still several steps required in assembling her outfit, including putting on a pannier and two layers of petticoats before being fitted into her actual gown, which had to be fastened to her stomacher using a combination of ties and pins.

Once she was fully dressed, Madame Fayette had Belle sit at her desk so she could style her hair using some hair curlers she had brought over from her dress shop.

"Are you sure you know how to do this?" Belle asked, which was really code for, _"I don't trust you with my hair, but I'm too polite to say otherwise."_

"Of course, my dear," Madame Fayette assured as she wrapped a curler around a lock of her toffee brown hair. "Remember, I've spent over twenty years practising on my daughters. I could practically do this in my sleep! Now hold these pins for me, would you?"

Belle wanted to point out that her daughters' hair often looked like a poodle's but thought better of it. Besides, it wasn't like she could do any better herself. Her knowledge of hair styling stopped at pigtails, which was hardly an appropriate look for a fancy gathering like the Prince's. So if she looked a little ridiculous, then at least she'd be comforted in knowing that the other women at this party would look the same. She took the pins from the seamstress and let her continue her work uninterrupted.

After finishing with her hair, Madame Fayette added a touch of powder and rouge to Belle's face and invited her to look at herself in the mirror by the stairs. Belle expected to be horrified by what she saw, but instead, she was surprised. Back in the dress shop, she and the seamstress had spent ages going through different fabric designs before agreeing that a solid colour would be best for her, as it was neither too loud nor attention-seeking. The final product: a sky-blue gown with ruffled trims around the sleeves, bodice, and petticoat, had the perfect combination of modesty and elegance. While Belle had been reluctant to wear a pannier at first, she now felt glad that the Madame had suggested it, as it made her dress look fuller and brought out the embroidered white and pink flowers on the sides of her skirt. Her hair wasn't frizzy as she expected it would be but piled neatly on top of her head with a few ringlets hanging loosely behind her ears for contrast. It was a simple yet sophisticated do that helped to emphasize her long forehead and gently curved chin. All-in-all Belle wouldn't say that she was _in love_ with her new appearance but didn't entirely hate it either.

"Oh, and I almost forgot. _La_ _pièce de résistance!"_ Madame Fayette added excitedly. She stepped away from the mirror and returned with a straw hat decorated with paper flowers similar in colour to the ones on Belle's dress. She placed it on her head, completing her disguise into a refined woman of upper-class society. "You don't want to be seen without a hat, dear. It will do no good for your complexion. Now let's show you off to your father before Mr. Potts arrives."

Belle called Maurice up from the cellar who wasted no time doting over his daughter's appearance and making some embarrassing comments about how she looked "just as beautiful as her mother did on her wedding day" before the wagon arrived.

"Make sure you don't get your dress caught behind the wheel," Madame Fayette advised as she and Maurice followed her outside. Even from taking a few steps out the door, Belle could feel how much heavier and constricting her gown was compared to her regular working dress. _Thank goodness I'll only have to endure it for a few hours._

She rambled her thanks to the seamstress several times before hugging her father goodbye, checking to make sure her invitation was in her pocket, and climbing into the buggy. Butterflies grew in her stomach as she watched her cottage shrink from view, until it was nothing but a small bump on the horizon. She wondered if this was how Cinderella felt on the way to her prince's ball, getting her first breath of freedom after years of wishing for a better life.


	3. Chapter 3

Sultan couldn't have chosen a more inconvenient time to break out of his leash. The summer solstice party was in full swing. Nobles were congregating in the shade of the lawn hedges to indulge in conversation and light refreshment as a string quartet serenaded them from the colonnade. Meanwhile, the Prince was darting across the gardens, trying not to panic as he searched under benches and serving tables, calling out for his missing dog. He had broken loose a few minutes earlier, and Adam could hardly blame Chapeau for letting it happen. Even though Sultan was over two years old, he still had the rebellious energy of a pup, with a habit of defying any person in the castle who _wasn't_ his master. Adam wasn't sure if his personality or his nature as a Brittany was more to blame. What he did know was that he had to find him quickly, before he disturbed his guests or ran off into the woods, never to be seen again.

Thankfully, he didn't have to look far before he spotted the dog trying to jump on a woman standing outside the hedge mazes. The woman was trying to reach for him—whether to pet him or shoo him away, Adam couldn't discern. Either way, she was struggling to bend down due to the constricting nature of her blue dress. He strode over to her, relieved to have found his dog, but embarrassed that he had to be such a nuisance on today of all days.

"Sultan _, ici!"_

Hearing his master's voice, Sultan spun around and sprinted to the Prince as though they'd been separated for _years_ instead of a few minutes. He stopped in front of him, jumping up and down on the spot and wagging his tail giddily.

"What have I told you about running around and jumping on other people, eh?" Adam scolded. "You were _supposed_ to stay on your leash."

Sultan wagged his tail faster, tongue hanging loosely from his mouth. He was utterly endearing, even to someone as unimpressionable as the Prince, so he sighed and gave him a reluctant pat on the head. He knew he shouldn't be praising Sultan for his bad behaviour, but maybe it wouldn't hurt to let him off the hook this once. After all, he _had_ listened to him when he asked him to come; a significant improvement from his previous attempts at calling him back to him.

With Sultan safely back in his possession, Adam looked up to address the woman who had intercepted him. "So sorry if this _crétin_ scared you, mademoiselle. He's harmless, really. _Oh."_

He'd caught sight of the lady's face under the shadow of her hat and his heart skipped a beat. It was Belle. The girl who _wasn't_ supposed to come to his party but had miraculously shown up anyway. He didn't know what startled him more: the fact that she'd _accepted_ his invitation, or that she'd gone out of the way to dress for the occasion. Her gown met all the criteria of what was in style for the ladies of court, from her billowing skirt to her ruffled sleeves and layered petticoat. But unlike the superfluous magenta gown she'd worn to Amandine's birthday party, this gown helped to emphasize her natural beauty instead of detracting from it. In a word, she was a vision, and Adam was speechless.

"M-Mademoiselle Gagnier," he stammered, nearly forgetting himself as he took in her radiant appearance. "Forgive me… I almost didn't recognize you! I'm so pleased you could join us."

"It's a pleasure to be back, Your Highness," Belle said graciously, dipping herself down into a practised curtsy. "Thank you for inviting me."

"That dress on you is just…" He blinked at her in amazement as he tried formulating an accurate but not too emphatic compliment. "You look wonderful."

"Thank you." She blushed. "A seamstress in my village made it for me."

"You don't say? Well, she did a fine job." But even as he said it, Adam couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. That dress must have cost Belle a _fortune_ on her father's salary, especially if it was custom-made. Had he known that she was planning to attend his party, he would have arranged for someone to make her a new gown free of charge. In fact, he knew of a certain resident prima donna who would be _perfect_ for the job.

"How did you get here?" he asked, feeling obligated to make conversation with her, considering all the trouble she'd gone through to make herself presentable for him.

"Your stable master, Mr. Potts, offered me transportation," she answered. "I caught a ride with him on his buggy before he started his shift at the castle."

 _All the way here in a buggy?_ Adam raised his brows in alarm. Now he really felt like an imbecile. If Lumière heard about this, there'd be no end to his gloating and teasing. "Forgive me," he apologized. "I was so busy overseeing party preparations. I should have inquired to see if you needed a carriage."

"Oh, that's all right," she assuaged. "I _like_ riding in wagons! I can see so much of the countryside and forest along the way. It's almost like going on an adventure."

He had to smile at Belle's unfettered enthusiasm, as unnecessary as it was. Lord knew how much he'd missed it after five years of interacting with uninspiring nobles, some of whom put his own former selfishness to shame. "Regardless, I'll ensure that you get a proper ride home this evening," he promised. "At least let me recover _some_ of my dignity. This is Sultan, by the way." He gestured to his dog, who was observing his interaction with Belle with quizzical eyes. "I'm sorry again if he scared you. I can assure you that it won't happen again."

"He was no problem at all, Your Highness. One of my old neighbours used to have a dog just like him as a matter of fact. Hello, Sultan." She stepped closer to him and waved at him with a friendly smile. "Are you going to behave yourself now?"

Sultan slowly approached Belle and sniffed her skirt without jumping on her this time. Seeing that he was beginning to settle down, she knelt down to pet him, his tail wagging excitedly the entire time.

"He seems to like you," Adam noted curiously.

Suddenly, Vincent emerged from around the hedge maze with Amandine following closely behind him. Both of them had volunteered to search for Sultan after Adam had found out he'd gone missing.

"Ah, so you found him, then?" Vincent asked, upon seeing Belle rubbing the dog's belly in the grass.

"Yes, Vincent," Adam confirmed. "Though I had a bit of help." He subtly motioned to the newcomer while trying to hide his embarrassment. Not only did he have to contend with Belle being here as a guest, but he also had to think about how to present her to his other invitees, who would be _very_ interested in knowing why he'd brought her here in the first place. Vincent and Amandine would be understanding enough, but not all his guests would be the same way. And the last thing Adam wanted was for Belle to leave here today feeling like he'd brought her to this party to be ogled at like an animal in a royal menagerie.

Bearing this in mind, he cleared his throat and said, "Mademoiselle Gagnier, I'd like you to meet my cousin, Marquis Vincent de Breil de Pontbriand and his fiancée, Princess Amandine de Lanzac. Vincent, Amandine, this is Mademoiselle Belle Gagnier from the nearby village of Villeneuve."

 _"Enchanté,_ mademoiselle," Vincent said, bowing to Belle and glancing at her curiously. From behind him, Amandine did the same, only with a curtsy.

 _"Enchantée,"_ Belle replied with a nervous curtsy of her own.

"I had the pleasure of meeting Mademoiselle Gagnier earlier this month," Adam explained, moving in beside her in hopes of making her feel less self-conscious. "She came to the castle to voice some concerns she had about the schooling in her village. She's very well-read, despite not having a formal education, and invents machines to hasten the time it takes to do her chores at home. I thought it a shame that someone so accomplished has never had the chance to interact with like-minded people before. So... I decided to invite her here today so she could meet some."

It was all a bunch of rubbish of course, but sometimes Adam impressed himself with his ability to invent stories on the spot. Judging by their intrigued expressions, Vincent and Amandine were completely sold on his explanation.

"Is that so? Well, I certainly hope we won't be a disappointment to you, mademoiselle," Vincent said, addressing the young woman with a cordial smile. "I've known my cousin for nearly all my life, and he's _never_ invited a commoner to a party before. If he's deemed you worthy of being here, then he _must_ think you're important!"

Belle let out a forceful chuckle. _"Merci, seigneur._ But there's honestly not much here that can disappoint me. I haven't been this far from my village in _years._ The fact that I'm attending this party as a guest is a wonder in itself."

"Hmm, so she's impressionable, well-mannered _and_ intelligent," Vincent noted. "Now I _must_ know the full details of how you two met."

"I adore your dress, mademoiselle," Amandine added, gesturing to Belle's outfit thoughtfully. "That shade of blue goes just perfectly with your complexion."

Belle looked momentarily stunned by the Princess's compliment before she remembered herself and smiled. "Thank you, Your Highness. And that necklace on you is very… pretty."

 _"Merci!"_ Amandine beamed as she placed a hand over her pearl necklace. "It was my mother's."

 _So far so good._ Adam thought, a nervous smile of his own creeping over his face as he observed the conversation unfolding before him. Perhaps Lumière's suggestion to invite Belle here wasn't such a terrible idea after all.

The group's attention was briefly distracted by a throng of orchestra members making their way across the gardens with chairs and music stands.

"Looks like they're setting up for the dance," Vincent observed. "Will you and Mademoiselle Gagnier be joining us then, coz?" He glanced back at Adam; brows raised suggestively.

Adam directed his gaze back to Belle, who seemed a little nervous with the idea of dancing with her host but said nothing. She probably didn't think it was her place to speak her mind, given her outsider status. And yet, for all her rehearsed politeness and commitment to dressing for the part, Adam badly wished that she would. For it was Belle's fiery personality and blatant disregard of social norms that had made him fall in love with her in the first place.

 _You should ask her for a dance,_ said a voice in his head that sounded a bit like Lumière's. _It's only right._

"Certainly," he confirmed. "But I'm going to bring Sultan inside first and make sure he stays there. Mademoiselle Gagnier"—he glanced over at her again—"would you care to accompany me? There's something I'd like to show you while you're here."

"Oh." She bit her lip reluctantly. "Well, of course, Your Highness."

Smiling again, Adam extended an elbow to her, telling himself he was doing it to be courteous, and _not_ because he wanted to. Still, he couldn't help but feel a certain thrill as she let her arm entwine with his, remembering all the times they'd done this in the past, back when they were far closer than what they were now.

* * *

It was a long walk from the castle's main entrance to their destination. To pass the time, Adam decided to engage Belle in some polite, if rigid small talk.

"So, mademoiselle," he began. "What do you think of my party so far?"

"It's incredible, Your Highness," she replied sincerely. "I've had to pinch myself twice to make sure I haven't drifted off while reading one of my books. I've never been to a gathering in a place as beautiful as this before. And all those guests out there—well let's just say that they're a very different crowd from the ones I'm used to seeing in my village. I never even imagined I'd meet a princess in person until today."

"Princess Amandine has a heart of gold," Adam opined. "It may not surprise you to know that many reputable suitors had their eyes set on her before she settled for my cousin. Well, I shouldn't say _settled—_ they're marrying for love, not convenience. There may be others here who'll be more… _judgmental_ of your station _,_ but as long as you're with me, you'll have nothing to worry about. The key is to act natural and not be nervous. So far, you're doing a great job."

"Thank you." She smiled appreciatively. "By the way, did you really mean what you said about bringing me here to 'socialize?'"

"Of course!" He nodded vigorously, possibly a little excessively so. "Truth be told, I've never cared for this divide that exists between the lower and upper class. So many French nobles look down on their subjects, all because they were born into poverty instead of abundance. If we're all the same in God's eyes, then shouldn't it be our job to treat everyone equally, regardless of their birthright? I may not be a miracle worker, but if I start inviting commoners to aristocratic functions, then perhaps I'll find a way to break down those prejudices."

"I see." Belle seemed intrigued with this answer. "And I suppose I'm to be your 'first mate' in this initiative of yours?"

"In a way, yes."

He expected her to take this as a compliment, but instead, she frowned in disappointment. Her gaze dropped to the floor as she said, "I thought that… well, never mind." She shook her head and smiled again. "It was very considerate of you to bring me here today, Your Highness. Where are we going anyway?"

"It's a surprise." He grinned. "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll like it."

He spent the rest of their walk telling her about the history of the castle and the significance of the paintings they passed. He knew that Cogsworth would be a much better tour guide, given his extensive knowledge of European history and Baroque architecture, but Belle seemed to enjoy his commentary all the same. It was the only way Adam could distract himself from his nerves and all the questions he was too afraid to ask her, like why she'd decided to come to his party, and if he'd given her the wrong impression at their last meeting because he'd _definitely_ arranged that dinner as a gesture of hospitality, and nothing more.

But eventually, his list of things to say to Belle ran thin, and they fell into a heavy, though not completely awkward, silence. Sultan was trotting happily beside them, stopping now and then to sniff the leg of a suit of armour, or a spot on the floor with a particularly distinctive odour. The Prince didn't really care if his dog wandered a little inside, as long as he didn't urinate on anything along the way.

"How long have you had Sultan for, Your Highness?" Belle ventured to ask, seeing as their earlier conversation had run its course.

"About two years," he answered. "I bought him from a farmer when I was returning from a visit with a marquis in Beaucerf. The man fixed a wheel on my carriage and I wanted to compensate him for his efforts. He mentioned that he was giving away a litter of Brittanies on his farm, and well… I'd never had a dog before, so I thought I'd take a look. Long story short, the moment I saw this little rascal playing in the pen with his siblings, I knew I had to have him. We've been thick as thieves ever since."

"Sultan is your first dog?" Belle looked at him in surprise. "Forgive my presumptuousness, but I thought it was customary for aristocrats to keep a pack of hunting dogs on their property. Especially with all the land you own. Was I mistaken?"

"No," he admitted. "My father used to keep some hunting hounds when I was a boy, but that's all he used them for—hunting. He never believed in keeping dogs as house pets and I was in no position to reason with him. It wasn't until he died that I started to give some more thought into raising a dog of my own. It—well, he's a good distraction from all the work I have to do during the week. Sort of like reading."

Belle smiled, understanding his analogy. "And the name, Sultan," she continued. "It's a bit unusual, isn't it? Did you choose it on a whim, or does it mean something to you?"

Adam's heart did a nervous flip-flop in his stomach. Belle's question _seemed_ innocent enough, but the wording of it hit a little too close to home. Fidgeting restlessly with his hands he replied, "It sounds silly, but I named him after a character from _One Thousand and One Nights._ I was um… reading it at the time."

It wasn't the entire truth, but fortunately for him, Belle didn't seem to notice. "That's such a clever idea!" she remarked. "I wish I'd thought of using a book character's name when we named our horse. We just call him Philippe—well, that's what the breeder called him anyway. If I had a dog though..." She scratched her chin, thinking. "I suppose I'd name him after a character from a Shakespeare play. Maybe Brutus. Or César…"

She continued to debate over what Shakespeare name would work best for a dog as Adam reflected on the parts of Sultan's backstory that he _couldn't_ share with her. The truth was, he hadn't only named his dog Sultan in reference to a character from _One Thousand and One Nights._ He'd named him in reference to the last book he and Belle had read together during the curse. A book he'd failed to finish reading since then, because every time he tried, he'd hear her voice in his head, haunting him like a restless ghost. So he let it sit on his shelf and collect dust, along with several other books he used to read with her in their old timeline. Another part of his beastly past buried and laid to rest.

The Prince's first few months of raising Sultan were a challenge, but it was a challenge he was willing to embrace. He was frustrated with himself for still clinging to Belle's memory after three years. His recurring dreams about her returning to the castle didn't help matters. He was desperate to move on and Sultan was the perfect distraction. Using some tips from the staff and instructional books he'd found in the library, Adam trained his dog in basic commands in only six weeks. Once Sultan accepted the Prince as his master, their bond became near-inseparable. In the warmer seasons, they would go out for long walks in the forest, hunting together for rabbits and birds. In the colder seasons, Adam allowed Sultan to sleep with him on his bed. The dog must have had an internal clock built into him because he always remembered to jump off the mattress before Chapeau came by in the mornings. Sultan wasn't a replacement for Belle—nobody ever would be—but Adam never once regretted his decision to bring him home. The dog was always happy to be in his company—something Adam sorely needed after a near-decade of hating himself. And given his inability to keep a courtship for longer than a week, he often wondered if a dog was the next best alternative.

He turned a corner with Belle, bringing him back to the task at hand. They had arrived at their destination. Opening the door, he beckoned her to step inside with a gentlemanly flourish. "After you, mademoiselle."

It was worth bringing her here just to see her reaction as she caught sight of the library. Traces of her old self broke through as her eyes lit up with unbridled joy, overwhelmed by the display of books surrounding her. She clapped her hands to her mouth while Sultan circled her and wagged his tail, not understanding why she was so happy, but emulating her all the same.

"I know how much you love books," Adam explained, "so I thought it only prudent that you see my library once before leaving here today."

"It's wonderful," Belle breathed. "I've never seen so many books in all my life!"

"Yes, well it's not exactly the biggest castle library in France," he replied, trying to sound modest. "That would go to the Château de Chantilly in Île-de-France. But this one has a few perks. That chair by the fireplace is a great place to sit when the sun sets. The light from the window leaves a very interesting pattern on the floor."

"Have you really read every one of these books?" asked Belle, who clearly had more on her mind than discussing interesting light patterns on the floor.

He snorted. "Well, no. Some of them are in..." He was about to say Greek but stopped himself, sensing this conversation was becoming oddly circular. _"Latin."_

She laughed. "Well, I think it's magnificent, Your Highness. I could spend all day curled up in here with a book, escaping from reality. You're so lucky to have all this space to yourself."

"Hmm. Well, now that you've mentioned it..." He scratched his chin. "My resident librarian, Mr. Webster, had a bad fall about a week ago and my physician says it will be a while before he'll be well enough to return to work. My head of household has been trying to find a temporary replacement for him, but so far, none of my current staff members are qualified enough for the job. But you're a capable, literate, book-loving individual." He surveyed her contemplatively. "I could recommend you to him… if you're interested."

"You're offering me a position?" Belle's dark brown eyes widened in surprise.

"Yes, well it would only be temporary," he clarified. "A few weeks, or however long it will take for my librarian to return to work. You'd be performing simple tasks mostly, like keeping the shelves organized, doing a bit of auditing, that sort of thing. I can't imagine you'd need to come in for longer than two or three days a week."

He was trying to make it sound boring, not wanting to dash her hopes too much. Truthfully, he was only offering her this position because he wanted to compensate her for the expenses of her dress, without admitting that he'd sent her party invitation by accident.

A part of him hoped that she would decline his offer, citing other commitments, or needing to look after her father. Instead, she responded with a confident, but unexpected: "I'd be honoured!"

"Oh." He stared at her in surprise. "Well... that's excellent then! I'll have you meet with my majordomo, Mr. Cogsworth, before you leave today so he can run you through the specifics of the position. I understand that the two of you have met before?"

"Yes." She nodded. "He's from my village."

She continued to glance around the room and examine the titles on the shelves, drifting away into her own little world. It was with great reluctance that Adam called out her name and brought her back to reality. He still needed to drop Sultan off with Chapeau and return to the gardens before his guests started to wonder what had happened to him.

His biggest concern about employing Belle as his librarian was that it would increase their chances of running into each other. It was only a slight possibility, but enough to make him nervous. His sole consolation was that she wouldn't be in every day and that he spent so many hours working in his bureau; the odds of him catching her alone were very unlikely. Still, he would make a point of avoiding the library on the days she was scheduled to work there, just in case. The key was to distance himself; not to overstep any boundaries or do anything that would send the wrong message about their relationship. He preferred it that way. It was too painful to think of what could happen if he attempted the alternative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel kind of awkward about giving the Prince a dog after seeing Dan Stevens' performance in _The Call of the Wild,_ but I digress.
> 
> Due to real life, my next update won't be coming until August. But I do appreciate all your comments and kudos and hope to be back again soon!


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the party passed by in a happy and whimsical blur. Prince Adam escorted Belle back to the gardens where, as promised, he honoured her with the first dance of the afternoon. Belle could tell he was a skilled dancer, making her embarrassed that she hadn't thought of practicing some moves in her new dress beforehand. She didn't believe she was worthy of such special attention, yet the Prince seemed to be pulling out all the stops for her. He was quick to compensate for her whenever she made a mistake or stepped on his toes, and when she bumbled her apologies to him, he only shook his head and laughed, assuring her it was all in good fun and she had nothing to be ashamed of.

Later that afternoon, the Prince introduced Belle to his other guests, whose reception to her ranged from friendly and welcoming to cold and indifferent. At one point, a group of invitees called him away from her, leaving her to rejoin the company of Princess Amandine, Marquis Vincent and some other aristocrats who looked to be around her age. The group took an immediate interest in the young newcomer, asking her several questions about the former towns she lived in, the inventions she was working on and the kinds of books she liked to read. Belle was pleasantly surprised by how politely they all treated her despite her commonness, perceiving her as more of an intellectual than an eccentric. Princess Amandine took an especial shining to her, offering her her fan to keep cool and volunteering to fix some pins that had fallen loose from her hair. It was obvious to Belle that the Princess knew a thing or two about maintaining appearances, though unlike the Fayette triplets, she treated Belle in an accepting, sisterly way, which made her instantly likeable.

When the party ended, Prince Adam presented Belle to his head of household so they could start putting her to work. Cogsworth seemed surprised by his master's choice of librarian, but as he was in no position to disagree with him, arranged a time for her to come in later next week to begin her employment. When Belle boarded the Prince's carriage that evening, it was with a deep sense of contentment, like she'd just finished reading a satisfying chapter from an adventure novel in which she was the unlikely protagonist. She waved to the Prince through the window and the smile on his face brought a small blush to her cheeks, though she couldn't comprehend why. She spent the ride home thinking about books and roses while humming fragments of a melody she'd heard back at the party.

When she got home, Belle didn't even bother changing out of her constricting dress first before filling her father in on everything that had taken place at the Prince's castle.

"My goodness! First dinner, now a job?" Maurice said with a raised brow. "Next thing you know, the Prince will be offering you a _mansion."_

Belle laughed dismissively. "There's a world of difference between offering someone a home and a job, Papa." _And besides,_ she thought to herself, _noblemen only gift mansions to their mistresses, and a mistress I am not._ Clearing her throat bashfully, she added, "Anyway. I figured it wouldn't hurt to make some extra income for ourselves, especially since it will be a while before all the parts for your music box arrive in the post. Maybe this way, we'll be able to move out of Villeneuve even sooner than we planned."

"I can't say I disagree with you there," Maurice said with a nod. "Erm… you did _thank_ the Prince for giving you the position, didn't you?"

"Only over a dozen times. For all the times I repeated the word, he must have thought I sounded like a cockatoo."

"I had to ask. Well, I'm certainly proud of you, my dear. In this changing world, I've never understood why a woman _shouldn't_ be able to make a living for herself, especially if she has all the skills and abilities to do so. I know you'll be more than capable. Besides, you've always talked about wanting more than a simple, provincial life for yourself. Maybe this new librarian job is your calling to some higher opportunity."

"Let's not get _too_ ahead of ourselves, Papa," Belle replied with a modest smile. "I haven't even started my first day yet. For all I know, I might do a _terrible_ job. But are you sure you'll be all right here all by yourself? You know I won't always be around now if you need me to make you lunch or fetch you something from the market."

"I'll manage," Maurice reassured. "You forget; I was out buying groceries, making lunches, _and_ changing your diapers long before you could say your first word. Besides, you'll only be gone for a few days a week, right?"

Belle nodded in confirmation, then smiled again. In this sleepy little town where nothing ever happened, she was excited to begin this new and unexpected chapter of her life.

* * *

The next couple of days were largely uneventful. Belle finished reading _L'Ardée,_ drew out some schematics for a new sewing machine, and went back to Madame Fayette's shop to return her hat and hairpins. Naturally, the older lady wanted to know all the details of the Prince's summer solstice party, including the food he served and the clothes the guests wore. When Belle mentioned that Prince Adam had offered her a position as his temporary librarian, the seamstress practically burst with excitement. She insisted that Belle allow her to make her some more dresses so she'd look fully presentable for the role.

At first, Belle wanted to refuse—after all, asking the Madame for _one_ dress was nerve-wracking enough—but in the end, agreed to her offer, so long as none of the new dresses she made required stays. While Cogsworth had said that Belle wouldn't have to wear a uniform when she began her employment, she doubted that showing up in her farming rags would make a good first impression. Nor did she want to seem ignorant of what was proper or embarrass the prince who'd been generous enough to hire her. Since Madame Fayette was offering her another discount, Belle saw this as a perfect compromise.

On Monday morning, Belle's first day of work arrived. She put on the same blue gown she'd worn during her first visit to the castle (Madame Fayette wouldn't have her new dresses ready until the end of the week at least) and walked to the meeting point on the outskirts of the village to await her transport. As she waited, she meticulously inspected her fingernails for any lingering traces of dirt. The previous night, she'd used up nearly an entire bar of soap to ensure she'd be as clean as a whistle for her new job. But even so, she was worried that she hadn't been thorough enough, or had forgotten to do something else that would bring her personal hygiene into question.

The wagon showed up on schedule. Before Belle knew it, she was back at the castle, making her way through the servants' entrance to meet with Cogsworth. The head of household greeted his new hire with a cordial nod, then escorted her to his office where he sat her down and spoke in great detail about all the procedures and expectations required of her as a castle servant. It was a lot of information for Belle to absorb at once, though she tried her best to look attentive, not wanting Cogsworth to find some reason to dismiss her on her first day of work. When he had finished his long-winded speech, he passed her an employment contract to sign, explained when she could pick up her wages and brought her to the library to begin her real job of the day.

"Above all your duties as the castle librarian, this one is the most essential," he explained to her as he showed her a book of handwritten ledgers. "This is the auditing record Mr. Webster was working on before his injury. Your primary job will be to continue filling out the log where he left off, recording the names of the remaining books in the library and doing an appraisal of the condition they're in. Anything that's torn, dog-eared, stained or water-damaged needs to be added to our records. And do be mindful of the ladders," he added cautiously. "They are strictly for reaching for books from the shelves, not toys. We've already had to replace one this year following an earlier incident."

Belle was too nervous to ask about the specifics of said incident, so she nodded compliantly. "I understand. Will the, erm… Master be around soon? I shouldn't want to disturb him if he comes in to read later."

"Not at all, mademoiselle. The Master left two days ago." Seeing her confused expression, Cogsworth added, "He's gone to spend some time with his family in Pontbriand. You'll have the whole library to yourself, at least until he returns next week."

"Oh." The majordomo obviously meant this as a good thing, but for some reason, Belle couldn't stop herself from frowning. It was strange because until this point she'd naturally _expected_ to see Prince Adam again. Now she wondered what would possess her to presume such a ridiculous thing. The Prince had a kingdom to run and a world of other people to meet with in a single day. It was silly of her to assume he'd put his duties on hold for her when they barely knew each other. But even after reminding herself of this fact, it didn't fully lessen her disappointment.

 _What does it matter?_ she chided to herself. She had a job in the biggest library she'd ever laid eyes on—a library that few people had access to in their lifetimes. Her gaze turned to the shelves filled with hidden worlds and voices from the past—all beckoning to her like a mystical siren's call. For at least a week, this place would be her new home away from home. There was nowhere else she'd rather be.

* * *

Five hours later, Belle's first shift as castle librarian came to an end. She hadn't gotten through as many books as she'd anticipated, though she was certain she'd get better at it with practice. Following Cogsworth's instruction, she placed the auditing book on the empty shelf by the fireplace, closed all the windows and locked the doors with the key he'd provided her. She would have loved to spend the rest of the day poring over the Prince's private book collection, but as it was, she had chores to finish and a dinner to make. She planned to return home immediately, only her bearings were not the greatest. It wasn't long before she became hopelessly lost, overwhelmed by the castle's endless array of corridors and stairs. Just when she was wondering if she should stick her head into a room to ask someone for directions, she heard a voice calling out from behind her.

"Oho! You must be our _nouvelle bibliothécaire!"_

Belle spun around. The man who'd addressed her was the same servant she'd seen during her first visit to the castle—the one with the kind-looking face who'd convinced Cogsworth to take her up to see the Prince. What was his name again? Lumignon? Luminaire? He flashed her a pleasant smile that may have bordered on flirtatious, though Belle wasn't experienced enough in that area to know for certain. Not wanting to seem impolite, she forced herself to smile back at him.

"Bonjour, monsieur. I know I've seen your face before, but I don't believe we've been formally introduced."

 _"Vous avez raison,"_ the man replied affably. "My name is Jean-Eugène Lumière, maître d' of His Royal Highness, Prince Adam de Bauffremont. But you may call me Lumière." He stooped down into a low bow. "And how may I address you, mademoiselle?"

"Belle is fine," Belle answered with a polite curtsy. "Everyone in my village calls me that."

 _"Ah, la belle,"_ Lumière repeated the word with a fond expression. "A fitting name for a beautiful young lady like yourself. I suppose it's only apt that we should run into each other like this."

"Oh?" She tilted her head curiously.

"I never got to apologize for putting you on the spot when you visited the castle last month," he elaborated, suddenly looking a bit self-conscious. "Truly, I didn't mean any harm by it. You must understand: my master is very committed to his role as prince. So much, in fact, that he puts it above what little social life and personal time he has for himself. And so, I thought that having him converse with someone close to his age would get him out of his shell, at least for a little while. You're still here, so it seems I wasn't wrong in my assumption."

"Not at all," Belle agreed. "Your master has been very kind to me. Though I must admit that I'm a bit surprised. I only wanted to speak with His Highness about reforming the education system in my village. I never expected he'd invite me back to his castle after or offer me a position as his librarian."

"The Master can be a surprising man, even to those who have served him longest," Lumière admitted. "Why, in the past five years alone, some of us would say that he's become a completely different person. In a good way, of course."

"Have you worked for him long?"

 _"Mais oui._ Since he was a _tout-petit_. I could tell you stories about him going back to when he was growing in his first set of teeth."

Belle smirked. She tried to picture Prince Adam as a toddler with a toothless smile and a pudgy red face, but against his proud and regal bearing, it was an impossible image. Shaking her head, she said, "I'm trying to find the way back to the servants' entrance so I can return to my village. Only this place is enormous, and I seem to have lost my way. I'm a bit embarrassed to ask, but would you be able to help me?"

"It would be my pleasure," Lumière said with another genial bow. "But on one condition. Before you leave, you _must_ permit me to introduce you to the other staff members downstairs. They are all very interested in meeting you."

"Meeting _me?"_ Belle blinked in surprise.

"Of course! We love getting acquainted with our new colleagues, no matter how short a time they might be working with us. It would be an honour to be your official _introducteur."_

He smiled at her again in a way that was so suave and charming, Belle found it difficult to refuse. _The day's still young,_ she reminded herself. She wouldn't lose a lot of time if she took a later wagon back to Villeneuve. And even if she did come home late, she was sure her father wouldn't mind if dinner was a half-hour or so behind schedule. Having convinced herself, she agreed to let Lumière escort her downstairs to meet with the other castle servants.

* * *

Down in the kitchens, Lumière introduced Belle to a group of staff members who were gathered around a table in the center of the room. Belle was already familiar with the Potts family, but had yet to meet Plumette—a maid who was in a relationship with the maître d'—and Maestro Cadenza and Madame de Garderobe—an Italian couple whom Belle had seen performing at the Prince's party the week before. The group was delighted to meet Belle, and insisted she join them at their table for some free snacks and refreshments. To them, this space was their "breakroom," a place where they could unwind and talk freely, with no prickly supervisors breathing down their necks. Belle wondered if by "supervisors" they were referring to Cogsworth but thought it would be improper to ask.

 _"Enchantée de faire votre connaissance_ , Belle," Plumette greeted once Belle had taken a seat across from them. "I have to admit, I was a bit surprised when I heard the Master had recommended you for our household. Not to say you're underqualified, it's just a little out of character for him. Normally, he doesn't show an interest in anything that happens outside his bureau. _Dites-moi,_ how on earth did you do it?"

"I didn't do anything," Belle insisted, drawing her knees together sheepishly. "He just told me there was a librarian position available at the castle, and I said I was interested. That's all."

"Well, whatever his reasons, it does my heart good to see the Master expanding his social circles again," Mrs. Potts said with a warm smile. "The only people he invites to the castle nowadays are his cousins and the nobles he does business with. I've scarcely seen him spend time with someone for the sake of enjoying their company."

"And he seemed so happy about it, too," Cadenza pointed out. "Did you see his face back at the party, grinning and laughing like a _ragazzino a Natale?_ I haven't seen him look that way in years."

Belle's cheeks grew warm, wondering if she was supposed to be privy to this conversation. But even she couldn't deny: The Prince _had_ been smiling a lot at the party, especially when he was in her presence. It was hardly something to get flustered about, yet it still made her feel slightly embarrassed. "Well, what about that servant girl?" she asked, looking to change the subject.

"Servant girl?" Plumette repeated, raising an inquisitive brow.

"Yes. The Master told me there was a girl who used to work for him at the castle. He didn't say much else about her, only that she left a big impression on him and turned his life around."

 _"Étrange._ I've never heard of such a girl," Plumette said with a puzzled frown. "Have you, madame?"

"I can't say I have," Madame de Garderobe concurred with the same confused expression. _"Amore mio?"_

 _"Nessun idea,"_ Cadenza echoed. "When did he tell you this, mademoiselle?"

"The first day we met, when we were waiting outside for my carriage," Belle answered. Her face flushed as she admitted this. If the servants didn't know about the girl, then perhaps the Prince had had his reasons for not telling them. Had Belle become a blabbermouth by revealing a supposed secret to his castle staff? "But um, I mean, it's quite possible I misunderstood him," she added, trying to recover from her blunder. "You won't tell him I mentioned that… will you?"

"Not to worry, mademoiselle," Lumière said, moving around the table to embrace Plumette from behind. "Your secret is safe with us. But _our_ master, having a relationship with a servant under our noses? I didn't know he had it in him."

The other servants echoed their agreement and continued to speak around the subject. All except Belle, who grew silent as she remembered how wistful the Prince had looked as he'd described his mystery woman. For the first time since she'd heard about her, Belle wondered if Prince Adam's feelings for the girl were deeper than what he'd implied. The thought made her feel strangely uneasy, though she quickly dismissed the sentiment. _So what if Prince Adam cares for that servant girl in a romantic sense?_ No law in France said he _couldn't_ fall in love with someone below his station. And Belle had no business prying into his personal life anyway.

What she did know was that the more she learned about Prince Adam, the more of an enigma he became. He was like a Gothic fiction novel; plain and unassuming on the outside, but full of unpredictable twists and turns on the inside. And although she had no right to it, a part of her wanted to keep turning his pages until she had uncovered every single one of his secrets.


	5. Chapter 5

_"Allez!"_

The fencers were off, scuttling across the room like two crabs locked in combat. Vincent was the first to go on the offensive, taking several timed lunges at his cousin, which Adam parried away with practiced ease. They'd been sparring with each other for five years, but still enjoyed finding ways to surprise and outdo one another whenever Adam came to visit.

That was how it normally went for them, anyway. But not today. Today, Adam could feel his concentration slipping away from him like sand between his fingers. In two more days, he'd be returning to the Château de la Rose to deal with this terrible mistake he'd made. Belle was working at _his_ castle as _his_ librarian, and no way under any circumstances could they run into each other. Even now, he was half-wondering if there was another way he could get her the money for her dress, a way that wouldn't require her to work so close to him.

 _I could commission Maurice for some paintings maybe,_ he thought to himself. _I'll pay him generously for whatever he makes me and send him and Belle to a new town where we'll never cross paths again._ _Belle will be none the wiser, and—_

His train of thought was broken as Vincent made a sudden lunge for his chest. Adam hastily parried the attack, and tried to follow through with a riposte, but forgot to keep his knees bent as he did. Seconds later, he fell flat on his back, foil flying straight out of his hand.

"Adam!" Vincent shouted, running over to him in panic. "Are you alright?"

"I think so," Adam grunted. He took a moment to assess his pain level. Nothing seemed to be broken or bleeding, so he begrudgingly accepted his cousin's invitation to help him back to his feet.

"What's gotten into you?" Vincent said with a frown. "Normally, your ripostes are so impeccable, it's scary! This isn't like you at all."

"Sorry, Vincent. I suppose I've been a bit… distracted as of late."

"You, distracted?" His cousin stared at him curiously. "Well now, that's a first. And what exactly is on your mind?"

"Nothing. Just a trivial matter. Hardly worth making a fuss about."

"It wouldn't be about Mademoiselle Gagnier, would it?"

A look of panic flashed across Adam's face. But it was only for a moment before he remembered himself and assumed a more neutral expression. "No. Of course not. Why would I be thinking about _her?"_

"Deny all you want, coz," Vincent continued with a knowing smirk. "That straight face of yours isn't going to fool _anyone_. You still haven't explained your real reasons for inviting her to your party last week, you know. Though based on all the one-on-one attention you were giving her, I presume it was for more than a simple act of gentility."

Adam's ears burned hotly at his cousin's suggestion. He hoped he would have forgotten all about Belle by now, given how many days had passed since the summer solstice party. Unfortunately, once something caught Vincent's attention, he couldn't let it pass without an explanation. His curiosity was relentless—a quality that had already irked Adam on several occasions.

"The truth is, Lumière sent her an invitation, not me," he admitted as he walked over to pick up his foil. "You know how he is… always giving me advice on wooing women like I don't know how to enjoy myself. He thought it would be funny to invite Mademoiselle Gagnier to the castle again after she came to speak with me in my bureau. It was a stupid thing to do, but really, how else was I supposed to address the issue? It would hardly be polite to rescind her invitation, given our former acquaintance."

"Hmm. Well, I think your maître d' had the right idea," Vincent said approvingly. "You're always so busy with your royal commitments, coz. I never see you spending time with anyone who—well, quite frankly might be worthy of courting."

"Me and Mademoiselle Gagnier, courting?" Adam looked back at his cousin in alarm. "Don't be silly, Vincent. We barely know each other. Besides, she and her father are planning to leave Villeneuve soon. They're going to start an art business in a new town somewhere. Even if I _were_ interested in her romantically—which I'm not—I doubt it would work out between us. She's a peasant and I'm a prince. Our lives are too different."

Even to his ears, Adam's excuse didn't sound fully convincing. Vincent seemed to suspect his cousin was hiding something, too, for a skeptical frown appeared on his face. "Well, if you ask me, coz, you shouldn't let social class stop you from pursuing a relationship," he reasoned. "I think Mademoiselle Gagnier is a promising young woman despite her peasant background. Even Amandine had some nice things to say about her, and you know how timid she can be around strangers. And to be honest… I worry about you. You've spent so many years on your own, running your kingdom, entertaining dignitaries, helping the poor. You deserve to connect with someone who can take the weight off your shoulders and bring some healthy unpredictability to your life. I can tell you after meeting Amandine, once you've met your _âme sœur,_ there really is no better feeling."

He smiled wistfully, giving Adam a perfect opportunity to change the subject. "I still can't believe you're getting married," he admitted.

"Aye. I can't believe it myself. And to the most beautiful princess in the country, no less." Vincent sighed fondly. "The only thing that makes me _more_ nervous is knowing I'll be a _prince_ _consort_ in a few months. It'll be some big shoes to fill, and honestly, I'm not sure how good of a job I'll do. Don't be surprised if I show up in your salon one day, begging you for advice."

Adam chuckled. "You'll do fine, coz. As long as you manage your finances properly and take the time to listen to your subjects' concerns, they'll have no reason to look down on you. The key is to not spend your money in excess. I did that once before and well… it was not the wisest decision I could have made."

"But you've come so far since then," Vincent reminded him. "It inspires me to hope that I can do the same."

The two cousins went on to speak about other subjects before returning to their rooms to prepare for luncheon. Once in the dining room, they were greeted by Adam's Uncle Christophe, Cousin Léa and her new husband, Raphaël de Coriolis, the current Count of Vieillerive. The couple had married earlier that year, and like Adam, were visiting the Château de Tourmorne to spend time with the family for the week. As the group ate their lunch together, their conversation turned to Léa and Raphaël's new life in Vertemuraille and Vincent's upcoming wedding to Princess Amandine. Adam smiled intermittently throughout the meal, making light jokes and polite remarks where he could. He was genuinely happy for his cousin's engagement, especially considering that _he_ had arranged the ball that had caused the lovestruck couple to meet in the first place. For him, it had been another way of taking his mind off Belle and the fact that they _could_ have been together, under different circumstances. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he still held firm in his belief that their separation was for the best.

After luncheon, the group went for a stroll in the gardens. Vincent soon engaged himself in a three-way conversation with Léa and Raphaël, leaving Adam to trail behind with Uncle Christophe following closely.

"Adam," the Duke called out to him. "Accompany an old man for a walk, would you?"

"Oh." Adam stopped and looked over at Christophe in confusion. Something in his uncle's tone sounded far too friendly, which he found strangely unsettling. Still, he smiled and answered with an obliging, "Of course, Oncle."

The Duke waited for the others to walk several paces ahead of them before addressing his nephew again. "You know, neveu, I've never told you how grateful I am that you reconnected with us when you did. Here I was at my wit's end, thinking I would never persuade Vincent to break out of his gambling and drinking habits. Then you showed up and helped him put his whole act back together. I didn't think it possible, but I can't thank you enough for all you've done for him."

"Please, Oncle." Adam tugged at his cravat self-consciously. "I barely did anything. Vincent started changing his ways the moment he laid eyes on Amandine. All I did was offer him a bit of encouragement. That's all."

"Even so, you made their engagement possible," Christophe argued. "That's a far greater gift than anything Léa or I could give him. Which brings me to my next point." He stared at his nephew intently. "We need to find a bride for you next. After all, you are of age, and there must be at least a dozen noblewomen who would love to have you. Tell me, have any of them caught your fancy yet?"

Adam's cheeks grew warm. Now he understood why his uncle had wanted to speak with him alone. To talk about _that._ "Truthfully, Oncle, I'm not sure if I want to marry anymore," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I know it's tradition, only… I'm not sure if it's the right path for me. But please, don't misunderstand me. I'm fully aware of the consequences of not producing an heir and have prepared a contingency plan should worse come to worst. I intend to give my throne to Vincent and Amandine's children when my time comes."

If Adam were having this conversation with his father, he was certain he would have been furious to hear that his son planned to give away his legacy because he was unwilling to marry. Instead, the Duke tilted his head and studied his nephew with an intuitive expression. "You're saying these things because of your parents, aren't you? You're afraid that if you marry for convenience as they did, you'll end up in an unhappy relationship for the rest of your life."

Adam lowered his gaze, hesitant to confirm his uncle's suspicions. "I'm sorry, Oncle. I—"

"No, no, I understand," his uncle interrupted gently. "I suppose I should have expected it... given your circumstances. As you know, my father—your grandfather—was very set on tradition. When your mother turned seventeen, he put all his efforts into pairing her with the wealthiest suitor that would have her. I can't say it was without reason—after all, her marriage saved us from years of financial ruin down the line. Still, I often wonder how different her life might have been, had he given her the freedom to choose a suitor instead of marrying her off in haste."

Christophe bowed his head in mournful contemplation as Adam glanced back at him in pity. As a child, he would have found his uncle's words to be deeply upsetting. But as an adult, he had long since accepted that his parents' marriage was far from a match made in heaven. His mother had spent thirteen years hiding her pain behind feigned smiles and laughter, all to protect her son from her husband's cruel and self-indulgent lifestyle. But despite her best efforts, Adam had still grown up to become the complete opposite of the boy she'd raised him to be. And while his time as a beast and time traveller had helped him overcome the worst of his demons, he doubted he'd ever be free from the scars his parents had left behind.

"But that fate doesn't have to be yours, neveu," Christophe continued, bringing him back to the present. "Speaking as your uncle, I'd never expect you to sacrifice your happiness for the sake of others. I'd much prefer you marry someone for love than for money or status. I'm sure your mother—were she still alive today—would say the same thing."

Adam blinked at his uncle dubiously, then snorted. "You forget, Oncle. Marrying for love requires you to fall _in love_ with someone first. That won't happen to me. Why, I'm twenty-five years old and I'm doubtful I ever will."

"Never say never," Christophe encouraged. "I'm sure there's someone out there who's right for you. One day, you'll find her, and you'll know it without a doubt. It will hit you—bam!—like lightning."

Adam shook his head and forced himself to chuckle. It wasn't that he hadn't tried to connect with someone new yet. He sometimes made small talk with other eligible noblewomen when he attended aristocratic functions, but nothing worthwhile ever came from his efforts. As he'd learned from his former betrothal to Amandine, once he'd fallen in love with someone, it was impossible to see himself with anyone else. But Belle was destined for a better life; full of adventures and delights beyond anything he could give her as a Prince of France. For all these reasons and more, he was certain that he was better off spending the rest of his life on his own.

* * *

A week passed. Belle's work as castle librarian fell into a comfortable, if predictable routine. The moment her shift started, she'd get straight to business, taking books off the library shelves and recording their condition into Webster's entry book. While she tried to avoid reading too deeply into the books themselves, sometimes she couldn't help but get swept away into the pages of a particularly fascinating text, to the point she'd almost lose track of time.

It was a rewarding job but also a little lonely, with no one to talk to as she completed her work. The only people who visited her during the day were Cogsworth and Mrs. Potts, the latter of whom liked to spoil her with tea and baked treats she was testing out for the Master. All the servants had taken a liking to their new librarian, and while Belle could easily say she felt the same about them, none of them shared her passion for reading and literature. And so, she kept her discoveries in the library to herself, like the archangel Uriel, guarding mankind against the unspeakable secrets locked away in the tree of knowledge, good and evil.

On Wednesday afternoon, Belle was in the middle of locking up the library for the day when she heard music coming from the corridor on her right. Her brows furrowed, trying to decipher the foreign sound. She couldn't identify the instrument—only that it had a plucked and muted timbre that reminded her of several lutes playing at once. The melody was curious: slow, contemplative, and slightly hymn-like. After a moment of deliberation, she decided to investigate.

It didn't take long for her to find the source of the music coming from a half-opened door at the end of the corridor. She peered inside. At the center of a spacious sitting room was what appeared to be a triangular writing desk with a lid protruding from its top surface. Golden leaves had been carved at strategic angles along the sides of the contraption, emphasizing its unique curves and elegant design. _This must be a harpsichord,_ Belle inferred, remembering a book she'd read about musical instruments once. _How many keys do they have again? Fifty? Sixty?_

Prince Adam sat by the edge of the instrument, face deep in concentration as he read from a sheet of parchment on a stand in front of him. Belle couldn't see his hands from where she stood, though the way he swayed in time to the music gave her little doubt of his proficiency behind the keys. She also noticed that he was dressed a bit more casually today, donned in a white shirt with ruffled sleeves and a jade green waistcoat. But despite his more dressed-down appearance, his straight posture and neatly tied ponytail still raised no question of his royal bloodline.

Sultan was curled up on the floor next to the Prince's stool. Upon noticing Belle, he got to his feet and trotted towards her, tail wagging excitedly.

"Hello, Sultan," Belle greeted in a low voice, not wanting to disturb the Prince's performance.

Unfortunately, her efforts failed her. The Prince—either hearing her voice or sensing her movement from the doorway—ended his piece mid-phrase. Startled, Belle looked up to see him gazing at her with those stunning greenish-blue eyes of his.

Quickly, he fumbled for something in front of him and pulled it out with an unceremonious "clunk" before glancing back up at her, face as red as a beet. "M-mademoiselle Gagnier!" he stuttered. "What a pleasant surprise!"

"I'm so sorry, Your Highness," she apologized, feeling her own cheeks redden in mutual embarrassment. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"No-no. That's all right. I was just finishing up. No harm done."

An awkward silence passed between them. Belle bit her lip and gave Sultan a scratch behind the ears before saying, "I didn't know you'd come back yet." Which, she supposed had been her own fault. She'd been so preoccupied with organizing the library, she didn't even remember Cogsworth telling her what day the Master would be returning.

"Yes. Late last night," Prince Adam confirmed. "It was a long trip, but uh—here I am."

"There you are," she repeated, mentally wincing at her awkward comment. Small talk had never been one of her fortes; something she deeply wished she'd spent more time practicing now. Her eyes flickered back to the harpsichord, looking for any excuse to change the subject. "Is that really… a harpsichord?" she blurted out.

 _Oh, brilliant job, Belle! Now he'll think you're uncultured_ and _a child._

Prince Adam glanced at the instrument and nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed. It's your typical French double-manual: ivory keys, spruce soundboard, pedal mechanism, _peau de buffle._ The works."

"Oh." She smiled, half in relief, half in fascination. "I've read about them, but I've never seen one up close before. Are they difficult to play?"

"Yes. And no." He shrugged. "It's all a lot of muscle memory, truth be told. Though I wouldn't consider myself an _exemplary_ player. I stopped taking lessons over a decade ago, and only recently started taking them up again."

"I thought your playing was lovely," Belle complimented. "All I can do is sing, though compared to Madame de Garderobe's talent, I fear I sound more like a toad than a chorister."

The Prince chuckled. "Never undermine your abilities, mademoiselle. I'm sure you have a lovely singing voice."

He said it so matter-of-factly, but it still didn't fail to bring a flush to Belle's cheeks. Did Prince Adam act this impressionably around all his subjects, or just around her?

"Erm… Cogsworth told me you're settling in well to your new position," he continued as he fidgeted with his cravat. "Tell me, how do you like working in the library so far?"

"I love it, Your Highness," Belle said without missing a beat. "You have so many wonderful books in your collection. It's like being in heaven on earth every time I'm in there."

"I'm glad to hear it." He smiled. "You're welcome to take some of those books home with you if you wish. I daresay there's a far better selection in there than what you'd find in your village."

She gasped. "Oh no. I couldn't possibly. They're yours!"

"Please, I insist. Consider it interest for filling in the position under such short notice. Besides, they'll sit and collect dust unless someone takes them out to air. Just remember to handle them carefully and bring them back to the library once you've finished."

"Absolutely, Your Highness." Belle nodded vigorously. "Thank you so much!" She tried not to show too much enthusiasm, but inside, she was already on the ceiling, bursting with joy at the Prince's most generous offer.

"You're welcome." He smiled again. "I presume you've finished your work for the day, then? What's next on your agenda? Going home to read? Working on your laundry machine?"

Belle smirked. "Actually, I was thinking about going for a walk in the woods. It's not too hot out, and the light is simply gorgeous around this time of day. It's the perfect way to exercise the muse… or at least, get outside the house for a while."

"What a strange coincidence. I was just thinking about going for a walk myself. Perhaps we should consider going together?"

"Oh." She hesitated. "Well… um—"

"And with Sultan, and my valet, Chapeau, of course," he added, suddenly looking a bit red. "We always go out for walks in the forest around this time of day. We'd probably be back around four if we headed out in say… ten minutes."

Belle considered that. While the Prince's offer was sudden, she couldn't deny her curiosity to see more of the land outside his castle. And who better to go with than the owner of the land himself? It seemed like the perfect opportunity.

"I... I suppose that would be all right," she agreed.

"Excellent!" He grinned. "I'll call for my valet."

* * *

Belle's walk with Prince Adam turned out to be quite agreeable, despite their earlier mishap in the sitting room. She ambled beside him on the forest trail as Chapeau and Sultan followed closely behind them. Their initial awkwardness soon resolved into pleasant conversation as the Prince drew her attention to several aspects of the forest, including rocks and trees altered by animals and other natural occurrences. When Belle asked how he knew so much on the subject, he admitted that he was something of a forester, and enjoyed studying the trees and wildlife in his spare time. It was a curious pastime for a prince, but Belle had to admit: it suited him.

Eventually, however, he prompted her to change the subject. Belle couldn't think of anything meaningful to say, so she told him about a novel she was reading called _The Book of the City of Ladies_. What intrigued Belle about the text was how the author challenged certain statements about women, including their role in society and how they should be educated. Midway through her rambling, she feared the Prince would dismiss her musings or call her a blasphemer for expressing such controversial ideas. Instead, he listened attentively, giving examples from other books that aligned with the writer's perspective. It was a riveting conversation between two people of opposite social standings. In the end, Belle was glad that she'd raised the subject. 

When they returned to the castle grounds, Chapeau had to stop by the stables to rinse off Sultan's paws. As they waited for him to finish, Adam took Belle into the stables to show off his horses. He tried to downplay his collection by saying that most nobles kept around ten horses while he only kept four, but Belle could tell he was feigning his modesty, nonetheless. All his horses were expensive breeds that would have no business trotting around in a backwater town like hers. Nevertheless, as a horse lover herself, they fascinated her.

"Which one is your favourite?" she asked the Prince curiously.

"I have a particular fondness for Arabian horses," he answered. "Jupiter is a very good steed." He gestured to a palomino horse in a stall behind them, which had a chiselled face with dark expressive eyes.

"Jupiter?" Belle repeated curiously. "Like the planet?"

"The Roman god," he corrected. "Ruler of the sky and lightning. I found it fitting, since horses of this calibre are said to move as fast as—"

"Lightning," she finished. "Oh, that's an excellent name, then! Hello, Jupiter." She reached out to stroke the side of the horse's neck. Since Jupiter did not object to this, Belle did the same on the other side, then reached up to rub his ears.

"Don't get too attached now," Prince Adam teased. "You'll make Sultan jealous."

"I should hope not. I don't mean to break any hearts."

Belle thought she heard the Prince make a "tsk" sound at her comment. But when she turned back to him, his expression was unreadable, eyes focused on something in the rafters. "Yes, many good horses have stayed in these stables," he mused. "Though I can't say the same for the memories."

"What do you mean?"

"It may shock you to know this, but the life of a prince isn't all sunshine and butterflies," he explained in a sardonic tone. "I... snuck out here once, the night of _Réveillon._ I was thirteen and it was the first Christmas without my mother. It had been a tough year for me, dealing with her loss and… everything that followed. And my father…" His expression darkened. "Well, let's just say that he wasn't the most sympathetic of individuals. He believed that the best way to deal with grief was to not express any emotions at all. And when I didn't follow his lead…" His voice faltered and a haunted look crept over his face, lost in a deeply-seated memory. Still, he took a deep breath and continued: "Eventually, it became too much for me. I wanted to disappear, forget who I was, where I came from. I didn't care where I went, I just needed to escape."

Belle frowned at the Prince in pity while trying to guess at what he _wasn't_ telling her. The servants often liked to gossip about him in the kitchens, which had given her a rough impression of what his parents were like: a mother who adored him and died too soon, and a cold, abusive father who'd torn all the happiness from him and buried it deep down. It was nearly unfathomable to Belle; whose own father had supported all her decisions and never once laid a hand on her.

"Did you do it?" she asked him gently.

"No." He shook his head. "There was a big blizzard that night and I never got past the stables. Eventually, Mr. Potts found me and brought me back inside. When I came to my senses, I remembered something my mother told me: 'No matter how bleak things may seem, we must always put our best foot forward and trust in the Lord to make things better.'" He fixed Belle in an intense stare, eyes soft and glossy. "I didn't take much stock in it at first, but in the end, I decided to hold on to that belief. Things did get better… to a point. It gets better every day."

Belle smiled. She felt a new sense of admiration for the Prince, knowing he'd endured so much at such a young age, but still emerged a stronger person for it. Yet the fact that he'd disclosed such a personal story to her left an uneasy feeling in her stomach and several questions she was half-afraid to ask. "Could I ask you something, Your Highness?" she posed after a moment's hesitation. 

"You may."

"Well… it's just, you've done so much for me," she pointed out. "You've invited me to dinner, to dance at your party, and walk with you in your forest. You've even offered me a job as your temporary librarian. I'm truly grateful for all of it, but I have to wonder… _why?_ Why show so much charity to me, a peasant girl with barely any prospects to her name?"

Prince Adam blinked rapidly, caught off-guard by Belle's unexpected question. Clearing his throat, he answered, "I think you already know the answer to that, mademoiselle. I'm impressed by your talent for reading and inventing and want to offer you this opportunity to experience upper class culture firsthand. While also working to blur the barriers that exist between the aristocracy and working class."

"I understand that part. But what do you gain personally?" she probed. "Am I to be some trophy for you to show off to your peers, as proof of what a generous leader you are?"

"Of course not!" He shook his head.

"Then what am I to you? A foundling for you to render to your amusement? A future conquest?"

"No!"

He took a step back, and from the slighted look in his eyes, Belle realized that her accusation had hurt him in a way she did not expect. Her cheeks burned in shame. All she'd wanted was some answers, but here she was, letting her heated emotions get the better of her… _again._ "I'm sorry, Your Highness," she said, lowering her voice back to a more conversational tone. "I shouldn't have—"

"No," he interrupted, running a hand through his strawberry blonde hair. "Please don't apologize. You have every right to accuse me of being dishonest with you. The truth is… I've never been good at making friends, at least the kind that lasted. When I was a boy, my father was very protective of me. After my mother died, he cut me off from anyone who would distract me from my studies or prevent me from becoming the prince he wanted me to be. Even after he died, I found it difficult to open up to anyone. I would invite hundreds of aristocrats to my castle every week, hoping to find someone to connect with, but never did." He crossed his arms, expression sad and distant. "But with you... it's different. I feel like I can trust you. Like I don't have to _pretend_ when I'm around you _,_ the way I do when I'm with other people. I know it's an odd request, but I'd like us to be… _friends,_ if you'd have me."

Belle opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to wrap her head around the Prince's startling proposal. Here she was, throwing unfounded accusations at him when all he wanted was to be her friend. The question was: did she feel the same?

She couldn't deny that the Prince fascinated her. From the first day they'd met, she'd felt a unique connection to him; one that a friendship would allow them to continue pursuing. Each time they'd met, he'd shown her nothing but kindness and sincerity. He'd taken a genuine interest in her pursuits and rewarded her curiosity instead of dismissing or shaming it. Why shouldn't they put a name to this good thing that existed between them? Considering the time they'd already spent together, it seemed like the logical next step.

"Well, I suppose I'm partially to blame for the misunderstanding, too," she admitted. "I've never been great at making friends either. You already know my sob story about the girl who was scorned by the children in her village because she liked to read. I'm so used to being on my own... I'm afraid I wouldn't recognize a friend if they were dancing naked right in front of me."

The Prince laughed at that. "Well, as your first official 'friend,' I promise I won't scorn your reading choices or do anything to compromise your honour," he vowed. "I just want the privilege of your company. Nothing more."

He stared at her with that same fond expression he'd fixed her in when they'd been waiting for her carriage. The sight sent a jolt of butterflies through Belle's stomach—a completely normal reaction to a man as attractive as himself. How many years had he lost to the darkness, forced to follow the path his father had laid out for him? And how many years had she spent, moving from one town to the next, going through the motions of her provincial life while dreaming of a better future? Whether by fate, destiny, or providence, she couldn't deny: some higher power _must_ have brought them together at this moment in time.

"I have one condition," she said.

"What's that?"

"If we're going to do this friendship thing properly, could we possibly do away with the formalities? Mademoiselle Gagnier sounds so rigid. I'd much prefer to be called Belle. _Just_ Belle."

"Of course, Belle." The Prince nodded. "Though if I am to address you by your first name, you must afford me the same courtesy. No more 'Your Highness' or 'Master.' Call me Adam. _Just_ Adam."

"Adam," she repeated slowly. It sounded like a forbidden word coming from her mouth, and nothing she'd get used to saying anytime soon. Still, a deal was a deal. "It's nice to meet you."

He smiled. "It's nice to meet you, too."

They shook hands. Belle seized the moment to look into the Prince— _Adam's_ eyes again, overcome by a strange sense of familiarity for this new and alarming change that had passed between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back to work next week, so expect slower updates from this point on. Hope you all are staying safe as we continue to ride through the waves of this crazy pandemic!


	6. Chapter 6

From the window of his study, Adam watched as Belle's wagon departed the castle for the day. An hour had passed since they'd agreed to become friends, and his mind was still buzzing with the unexpected decision he'd made.

 _Of all the excuses to give her, it had to be_ that _one. What on earth were you thinking, Adam?_

He was at full fault for what had happened in the stables, of course. He shouldn't have engaged Belle in conversation when she'd found him practicing his harpsichord in the salon. He shouldn't have asked her if she'd wanted to go for a walk with him in the forest. And he shouldn't have told her that sad story about his childhood—at least not without expecting her to question him about it afterwards.

But his visit to the Château de Tourmone last week had given him a new perspective. He'd finally acknowledged that the life he'd built for the past five years was drawing to a close. Vincent was getting married and moving to Claircomble to be with Amandine in a few months' time. He and his cousin would spend less time together… that was if they had any time to spend together at all. On top of that, everyone in Adam's inner circle was waiting for him to get engaged, despite his insistence that he was happy to remain a bachelor. He was at a crossroads with no map, no guide, and no sense of which direction he was meant to take.

But then he'd run into Belle, and it was like he'd suddenly found his bearings again. She'd reminded him of the past—of a time when he was happy, the last time he could let down his guard and speak his mind with no fear of judgment. Was it selfish of him then, to crave the company of the girl who'd taught him to laugh for the first time in over a decade? His heart was begging him to hold her tight and never let go. His mind knew better than to indulge in what he could never have.

 _She'll only be here for a little while,_ he reminded himself. _Once Webster's well enough to return to work, she'll go back to Villeneuve to continue her life like nothing's changed. There's no sense in getting attached to her now. No good will come to either of us if I try._

Maybe telling Belle he wanted to be friends wasn't the best excuse, but honestly, what else could he have said to convince her? She wouldn't have believed him if he'd told her the truth about their past. And when he really thought hard about it, maybe a relationship wasn't such a bad thing for them to pursue, so long as it stayed platonic and _only_ platonic. Adam swore not to let his feelings for Belle affect her future, as much as his heart yearned for the opposite. He'd attempted to cross that line with her more than once and knew all too well how disastrous it could be if he tried to cross it again.

* * *

The weeks passed. True to his word, Adam played the role of a loyal friend to Belle, meeting her after her shifts to give her extensive tours of the castle and the grounds. Sometimes they went horseback riding in the woods; Adam offered Belle his grey thoroughbred to ride, seeing as the mare needed the exercise and Belle had no horse of her own. He even honoured her with a private music recital once, playing the easiest movement from a sonata by Balbastre, while Chapeau played the melody on his violin. Belle had nothing but compliments for them, but her face lit up even more when Adam invited her to sit at the harpsichord after to show her how the keys and pedal mechanisms worked. As an inventor, Belle was completely fascinated by the instrument's anatomy, making Adam glad to have thought of the idea.

On one particularly rainy day, the two of them spent the afternoon in the library, discussing their favourite and least favourite books. Eventually, they came across a Gaulic history textbook Adam had been forced to read as a child and hated, due to its thick size and boring prose. Belle thought the best way to remedy Adam's sorry relationship with his textbook was to take turns reading it aloud in the silliest voices they could muster. Adam thought this was a strange idea, but agreed to indulge her, nonetheless. Their game went a bit too far, however, and soon they collapsed on the sofa in stitches, laughing so hard that Cogsworth had to poke his head through the doors to ensure that nothing was amiss.

That should have been enough for Adam; these quiet afternoons of reading books together with Belle, enjoying the balmy summer breeze, her glancing over at him without a trace of fear or revulsion. But his dreams said otherwise. Every night, he'd be plagued by visions of the two of them having picnics in an open pasture, sitting in a rowboat on a shimmering lake, or walking hand-in-hand down a beach at sunset. Almost all these dreams ended with them kissing—in one of them, he'd gone as far as to lower her onto the grass and undo the lacings of her bodice as she reached up with trembling hands to remove his shirt.

Moments later, he woke up with his face drenched in sweat and his heart racing like a maniac. As the events of the dream caught up to his reality, Adam's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He hadn't dreamt about Belle like that in _years._

"It's just a dream. Just a stupid dream," he muttered to himself as he pressed his face into his pillow. Just another meaningless vision of a reality that would never be his. All he could do was wait for it to pass, like all the other regrets he carried in this life.

* * *

Monday was a busy day for Prince Adam. Following his appointment with the Prince d'Isoard de Chenerilles, he had to meet with his tailors to be fitted for some new suits for his upcoming visit with the Duke of Pontavice. The process took longer than he'd expected, and before he knew it, the hour in which he would normally meet with Belle had come and gone in a flash. Not wanting her to wait any longer, he hastily changed back into his regular clothes and burst through the West Wing doors, nearly slamming into Plumette as he reached the stairs.

"Oh _Maître!"_ the young woman cried out with an alarmed squeal. _"Je suis tellement désolée!_ I'll be more careful next time!"

"Never mind that," Adam interrupted. "Have you seen Belle anywhere?"

"Well, as a matter of fact"—Plumette rubbed her chin pensively—"I believe I saw her wandering through the atrium less than ten minutes ago. It looked like she was heading towards the ballroom."

Adam sighed in relief; grateful he hadn't missed her. "Thank you!" he said, before making his way down the stairs.

As predicted, Belle was in the ballroom. Adam walked in to see her dancing away with an invisible partner at the center of the floor. She looked like an angel in her new beige _robe à l'anglaise,_ a sight that left the Prince breathless and brought an uncontrollable smile to his face. He wondered if this was how Hades had felt when he'd seen Persephone picking flowers in that meadow and instantly fallen in love.

Belle had so much spirit, so much joy, so much imagination. She was so unafraid of what people thought of her. How could the townsfolk call her a funny girl, when to Adam, she was his whole world? He would gladly give her everything he owned, right down to the shirt on his back, if it would make her happy.

"There you are!" he called out in his excitement. Then remembering his manners, he crossed the ballroom to speak with her properly.

"Adam!" Belle stopped dancing and turned around with a start. "I'm so sorry! The room was open, so I thought—"

"No need to apologize," he cut in, smiling at her gently to assure her that she wasn't in trouble. "You seemed to be enjoying yourself. Would I be permitted to join you?"

"Well, of course," she obliged. "After all, who am I to refuse a dance from a prince?"

"From a _friend,"_ he corrected. "Don't forget our agreement."

"Right. Sorry." She cleared her throat. "I would love to dance with you... as a friend."

Adam bowed to Belle and she curtsied in turn. Then, he took her hand and guided her across the floor.

As he suspected, Belle danced much better when nobody was watching them. The two of them glided around the empty room in an improvised waltz that nearly mirrored the one they'd exchanged in another reality—except that Adam was now the right _size_ to dance with his partner. Just thinking of that fateful evening was enough to make his throat tighten with emotion. He remembered how much love he'd felt for her then… a love that still hadn't faltered after all these years. This was how their first dance _should_ have been, had his circumstances been different. This was how he wanted her to remember him.

When the two of them grew tired of dancing, they went to sit on the orchestra dais to talk about their day.

"I haven't danced like that in a long time," Adam admitted with a smile.

"My father taught me to dance," said Belle. "I used to step on his toes a lot."

The Prince smirked, thinking of the last time Belle had shared this story with him. He'd been so hopeful then, so desperate for any sign that she returned his affections, that he'd failed to remember that all she cared about was her freedom. Even now that he was no longer a beast, and she was no longer his prisoner, he was certain her priorities would never change.

"What about your mother?" he inquired, wanting to distract himself from that particularly sobering line of thought. "You've never mentioned her before."

"You're right, I haven't." She lowered her shoulders and frowned. "The truth is... I never knew my mother. She died in Paris when I was a baby, and my father has never explained the reasons. All I have to remember her by are the portraits he draws of her and the stories he tells me. Still, it's not the same as _knowing_ her." She sighed and turned her gaze towards the floor. "I don't even know where she's buried, or if she even _had_ a burial."

Adam's heart twisted painfully in his chest. He still hadn't forgotten about the night they'd visited Belle's old home in Paris; the attic filled with dust and darkness—a sad remnant of a family life that once was. The devastation on Belle's face when she'd seen the doctor's plague mask had pained him in a way he didn't think possible. It had been a turning point in their relationship and given Belle some long-needed closure on her mother's death. But even though it had brought them closer together, Adam still couldn't figure out a way to tell _this_ Belle the real reasons for her mother's passing.

"I'm sorry," he forced himself to say instead. If he couldn't be honest with her, he could at least be sympathetic. "Perhaps I could do some investigative work to find out."

Belle glanced over at him in disbelief. "You would do that?"

"Of course." He nodded. "What was her name?"

"Rose-Colette Gagnier, though most people called her Colette," Belle recalled. "And before she married my father, her maiden name was Meunier."

"What a lovely name. I'll see if it turns up in any of the national records the next time I'm in Paris," Adam promised. "It may take a bit of time, though. I'm planning to leave for Comblenoir next week."

"You're leaving _again?"_ Belle said in surprise. Adam thought he heard a trace of disappointment in her voice too but was certain he'd imagined it.

"Yes, well, it's just for a week or two," he elaborated. "The Duke of Pontavice has invited me to his castle to discuss a new business venture. And… to introduce me to his niece as… a potential bride."

"Oh." Belle pursed her lips together thoughtfully, then added, "Do you _want_ to marry her?"

He shrugged. "I've never been big on arranged marriages, as surprising as that may sound. I saw what it did to my parents and honestly can't see myself doing the same, knowing how it might affect my future descendants. Still... a marriage is important for sustaining my kingdom, and I will need to name an heir at some point. I haven't made any official decisions yet, but it doesn't hurt to explore my options and... see who's available." He bit his lip, hating how business-like his explanation sounded. But that was all a marriage was to an aristocrat like him: another expectation to follow, another necessary step to sustaining one's title. When it came to extending his lineage, love was of little importance. True, Vincent and Amandine were marrying for love, but they were the rare exception to the rule. Adam doubted he'd be as lucky as them in finding someone he had feelings for and was of noble blood. He had turned himself off to that possibility long ago.

"What about that servant girl who used to work for you?" Belle went on. "Would you marry her, if she ever returned to you?"

Adam blinked in confusion. "Servant girl?"

"Yes." Her cheeks darkened, as though she were embarrassed to have asked such a personal question. Still, she continued, "The one you told me about when we were waiting for my carriage the first day we met? The way you spoke of her, I wondered if—"

"Oh." Adam frowned. He hadn't expected Belle to remember that story. He'd shared it with her on a moment's spur, thinking they wouldn't see each other again, so it didn't matter if he spoke openly with her on certain subjects. Had he known that his honesty would come back to bite him one day, he would have been much more prudent about holding his tongue.

"The truth is, I _did_ have feelings for her," he confessed. Admitting it aloud to her, even if she had no idea that the girl in question was in fact her, was something of a relief. "But I knew it wasn't my place to act on them. She was like a sparrow who had her eyes pointed towards the sky, and I couldn't find it in me to clip her wings. I know she'd be happier spending her life out on the road than spending a lifetime with me as my wife."

"I... understand." Belle nodded solemnly. "To be honest, I'm not sure if I'm fit to marry either. It's not exactly becoming for a woman to have a profound mind like mine if she wants to attract a husband—at least that's what the people in my village say. There's Gaston of course, but I'd rather catch the plague than marry him. Still, I know my father won't live forever." She lowered her gaze again, expression sad and pensive. "If he dies while I remain a spinster, I'd have to give up our cottage and find somewhere else to stay. Père Robert or Professeur Doucet could take me in for a while, but I don't want to be a burden on either of them. So… _when_ my father dies, I plan to join a convent and become a nun."

"You... become a nun?" The Prince snorted. "You can't be serious."

"I am, actually," she insisted, and Adam was taken aback by the sharp defensiveness in her voice. "I've put a lot of thought into it, and I know this is the best option. I could read and write as much as I want, with no one criticizing me for it. I could even go to the local orphanages to read books to the children there. If I'm really fortunate, I might even be able to travel to New France or the Southern Colonies for missionary work. I wouldn't exactly be the next Don Quixote, but I could still travel and see the world while making a difference in people's lives. It would be an adventure in its own right."

Adam considered that. As startling as it sounded, he had to admit that Belle raised some good points. The world wasn't exactly kind to unmarried women if his misadventures through time weren't a testament to that fact. Moreover, Belle had no relatives who could take her in after her father's passing, putting her in even more precarious a position. The convent was one of the few safe places she could go to next to the poorhouse, and the differences in those two living conditions were immense.

Still, Adam couldn't picture Belle stepping into a nunnery one day and stepping out as a Sœur Marie-Something the next. He had visited a convent with his mother once and had been haunted by the strange solemnness of the sisters' lives; how they gave up their identities and earthly possession in the name of serving the Lord. While Adam was certain that Belle's former education and selfless nature would be welcome in such a place, he wasn't sure if she'd be happy to be shut away from the rest of the world, with no chance of leaving once she'd taken her vows. In a way, it would be like trading one prescriptive life for another.

"It's a big commitment to pledge your whole life to God, even more than ruling a kingdom, I daresay," he told her. "Still I don't think that life will be yours, Belle. One day, you'll find a man who will love you for all your qualities, both good and 'profound,' and you'll fall hard and fast for him, just like in those fairy tales you like to read. I'm certain of it."

Belle let out a shaky laugh and looked back at him curiously. "You really believe that?"

"I do." He nodded. "But if I'm wrong... I'll take ownership of your house and you can live there for as long as you like. Or you can come and live here if you want. I'm sure I can find another position for you."

Belle's eyes softened and filled with an inner glow; a sight so breathtaking that Adam almost melted on the spot. He had to muster every bit of self-control to listen to her as she said, "Thank you, Adam. That's a very kind offer. But you need to give yourself some credit, too. I'm sure there's someone out there who's right for you. You're generous and smart, and... a good friend. Any woman would be lucky to have you."

Her voice was barely as a whisper, but still more than Adam could bear. Suddenly, he was back in the woods with her by the campfire, overcome with the urge to pull her into his arms and run his hands through her hair, kissing her with gentle ease and urgency. Against his better wishes, he leaned forward until he could see all the dimples on her cheeks and count all the freckles on her face. Belle's eyes flickered with uncertainty at Adam's sudden change in demeanour, yet she remained perfectly still. Her cheeks reddened and her lips parted like she was trying to say something but couldn't find the words.

Her constrained reaction was what brought Adam back to reality. If he kissed her now, he'd be breaking his promise, and the illusion he'd maintained for the past five years would shatter like glass from a mirror. They had to stay friends and _only_ friends.

Clearing his throat, he looked away from her and forced himself to sit in a more upright position. "Yes, well. I should probably go back to work."

"Oh," she responded in faint surprise. "Well, yes. Of course."

Glancing across the ballroom, Adam saw a familiar powdered wig disappear behind the ballroom doors. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Of course he should have expected Lumière to spy on them at a time like this.

* * *

It was nine o'clock in the evening. Adam stood by the fireplace in the West Wing, absently twirling a rose from his mother's garden between his fingers. He didn't look up as his maître d' entered the room, answering a call of summons he'd received shortly after dinner.

"You sent for me, _Maître?"_

"Yes, Lumière. I need you to deliver a message to the rest of the staff for me. I've decided to leave for Comblenoir a day early."

"Leave next Tuesday instead of Wednesday?" Lumière sounded surprised. _"Mais… pourquoi?"_

"I've received a letter from the Prince de Mailly-Nesle regarding some new trading opportunities in Germany," Adam explained simply. "I wish to discuss them with him before I meet with the Duke next week. This way, I can hit two birds with one stone before the fall harvest starts."

"I see." Lumière paused thoughtfully. "And… will you be taking Mademoiselle Gagnier with you?"

"What?" Adam turned away from the fireplace, an incredulous look on his face. "Of course not! Why would you ask such a thing?"

"Well, I just assumed… given that she is your _invitée d'honneur_ _,_ you might want to introduce her to some of the other aristocrats you do business with," he politely suggested. "And it will allow you to get a little… closer, _n'est-ce pas?"_

Adam's mouth dropped open in shock. He tried his best to sound surprised as he said, "You're suggesting I have _feelings_ for the girl?"

"Come now, Master. I've served your family since you were a baby," Lumière pointed out with an impish smirk. "You should know by now that you can't hide secrets from me. All those favours you're giving her, that 'recreational' time you spend with her after her work shifts? I may be getting on in years, but I can still tell when a man is falling in love."

"We're just friends," Adam dismissed.

 _"Certainement._ But does she think the same way?" He eyed the rose in Adam's hand, causing the young man to take a reflexive step backwards. He knew he should have expected Lumière to question his relationship with Belle, especially after almost seeing them kiss in the ballroom earlier today. But as the master of his household, he had to keep his feelings a secret. If he even hinted at the possibility of them becoming more, it would cause rumours to spread about the castle like wildfire. Rumours that would undoubtedly get back to Belle and ruin everything.

"Of course," he answered curtly, hoping to discourage his maître d' from saying any more on the subject.

Unfortunately, it didn't work. Lumière shook his head and smiled, seeing straight through his master's bluff. "You need to tell her how you feel, Master," he persisted. "Above gifts or compliments, women want the men they admire to be brave enough to speak from their heart. If you say nothing, she'll slip away from you like a fish caught in a broken net. If you care about her even a little, now is the best time to say so."

"I _do not_ love her, and I have nothing to confess," Adam refuted. "I respect and admire her, that's all. She's a bright and intelligent young woman who will make a big name for herself one day. She's a credit to her station and her sex. It is a privilege to know her."

"Without question," Lumière agreed wholeheartedly, though the earnestness in his expression was what made the Prince's fists clench. "But if you were to be honest with _yourself—"_

"Enough!" Adam shouted, so loudly, that Sultan—who was lying on his bed in the corner of the West Wing—stood up in alarm. "I do not want to talk anymore about Mademoiselle Gagnier, do you hear? Now go and make those preparations for Tuesday. I want no surprises or delays before my departure."

"Yes, Master." Lumière shrunk under his master's gaze and bowed. "Forgive me. I was only making a suggestion."

As he made his way out of the West Wing, Adam felt a twinge of guilt. He hadn't meant to yell at his maître d' like that, but at the same time, the man had to know his place. He had no right to tell Adam how to conduct his relationship with Belle. They could not and would never become a romantic item. End of story.

Just before he reached the doors, Lumière stopped and turned around again, a conflicted look on his face. "Master, before I leave... may I say one more thing?"

Adam rolled his eyes. "Make it quick," he grumbled, certain that whatever he was about to say, it would only irritate him further.

"I just want you to know that according to Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth, Belle has always been something of an introvert in her village," Lumière admitted. "She keeps to herself, walks around town with her nose in a book, and has no close friends to speak of. She's not exactly the most approachable person to be around. But with you, she seems very relaxed… happier even. It would take someone quite special to bring a girl like that out of her shell."

Adam bit his lip, the heavy feeling in his stomach increasing as Lumière added, "You've grown a lot in the past five years, Master. Many of your subjects have benefited from your kindness and dedication to improving their wellbeing. I'm proud to serve you and call you my prince. But you need to think about your happiness, too. You should never be afraid to open your heart to someone new. You should never be afraid to fall in love."

With these words, he bowed and took his leave.

Left to his thoughts again, Adam glanced back at the fireplace before tossing the rose resolutely into the flames. He missed his target however, and instead of landing in the grate, the rose rebounded off one of the pillars and fell to the floor.

Sighing in defeat, and half-convinced that the universe was trying to make a mockery of him, Adam crossed the room to sit on his bed and bury his face in his hands.

He knew that Lumière only wanted the best for him. But by encouraging him to pursue a relationship with Belle, he was only making things worse. The façade Adam had built around himself for the last five years was already starting to crumble. He was falling more in love with Belle by the day. And after what had almost happened in the ballroom this afternoon, it was becoming harder for him to uphold his promise to _only_ be her friend.

He wanted Belle to stay with him, to live with him forevermore. It was a selfish wish. Even now as he closed his eyes, he could see the same old images of Belle sitting helplessly in a corner of her bedchamber—a beautiful room but a prison cell all the same. He saw her walking away from him during his engagement ball with her face scrunched up in disgust. He saw her sitting on that filthy bed back at _La Bouteille Bon Marché,_ physically and mentally broken from the months she'd spent working as a prostitute. He had caused all of that. He had given her that pain. And he would do it all over again if he allowed himself to act on his feelings.

Lowering his hands, Adam saw Sultan staring at him questionably from across the room. His eyes were filled with a strange sagacity, like he too sensed that something wasn't quite right with his master.

"I'm just a side stop for her, Sultan," Adam muttered, glad that out of all the companions he kept, his dog was the only one who couldn't repeat his secrets. "We can never be together. Once she and her father leave Villeneuve, she'll fall in love with some swashbuckling, well-read gentleman who will make her happy in every sense of the word. She'll love him so much that she'll forget I ever existed. I'll never be the one for her... because I wished for Agathe to make it so."

Sultan slowly blinked at the Prince, then walked over to the fireplace to pick up his discarded rose. He dropped it at his master's feet, causing Adam to smile despite himself. As he reached down to pet Sultan on the head, he began to wish for a simpler life where Belle had never come to the castle, and he'd had the strength to stay away from her, instead of letting things get as far as they had.


	7. Chapter 7

"Ah, Belle!"

"Good morning, Professeur Doucet," Belle greeted, entering the village bookshop with a pleasant smile. "I've come to return the book I borrowed."

"Well, it's about time," Professeur Doucet admonished, glaring at the young woman through his circular, wire-rimmed spectacles. "You haven't visited me in so long—I was starting to worry that you'd forgotten about me! Tell me, my child, where on Earth have you been?"

"I'm sorry, Professeur," Belle apologized. "I'd never forget about you! I've just been busy with my new job. I haven't had as much time to stay on top of my reading as I used to."

"Oh, my dear. I was only joking." The old man's frown turned into a smirk. "Mrs. Potts told me all about you when she came by to find a new book for her son last week. Naturally, I had to inquire about you as she was paying up."

"Oh?" Belle cocked a brow. "And what did she say about me, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Only that you're adjusting marvellously to your new position. And you're getting very well-acquainted with the young man who hired you."

A small blush spread across Belle's cheeks at this comment. "We're just friends, that's all," she persisted, out of instinct more than anything. "It's not very often that I get to meet someone who enjoys reading and criticizing books as much as I do. And I mean… it's hardly right to refuse the company of someone who's interested in the same things as you, is it not?"

"Not at all, my dear." Professeur Doucet nodded reassuringly. "Never feel that you have to justify your relationship choices to me—unless they involve that Gaston fellow, of course. What I mean to say is that I'm _proud_ of you for seizing this opportunity to pursue your passions and make a name for yourself. You can't go wrong with a prince for a reference, that's for sure. Why, I guarantee you could find work anywhere you wanted with a man like him on your side."

"That's a good point," Belle agreed. Yet, the mention of Prince Adam caused an odd heaviness to well up in her chest. Just last Thursday, Cogsworth had brought her to his office to tell her that Mr. Webster had made a full recovery from his injury and planned to be back to work by next Wednesday. In less than a week, Belle's librarian job would be over. She'd go back to biding her time in Villeneuve and supporting her father as he finished the final repairs on his windmill box. It was time to think of the future and the opportunities that awaited them once he sold his work. Instead, all Belle could think about was what she'd be leaving behind: A library full of books and a dear friend to share it with.

 _But now's not the time to feel sorry about that,_ she chided to herself. _It's been so long since you've visited the bookshop. Pull yourself together and enjoy yourself a little,_ _would you?_

She placed her borrowed copy of _La Princesse de Clèves_ on Professeur Doucet's desk and glanced at the shelves, which, for the past two years, had been her only escape from the drudgery of her poor, provincial life. To her surprise, a new row of books had been placed on a shelf next to the history section.

She read the brass plaque underneath and her eyes widened. "A women's literature section? I've never seen this here before."

 _"Oui._ I added it just a couple of weeks ago," explained the Professor. "It seems that a certain young woman from our village made a complaint to the Prince about reading being only a 'gentlemen's' pastime. So, in response to that, he has now permitted books for men _and_ women to be sold in bookshops."

Belle's mouth spread in astonishment. Had Adam done that… for her? She looked back at the shelf and pulled out the first title that piqued her interest: _Sermons to Young Women_ by Reverend James Fordyce. Opening the book to a random page, she read:

_We consider the general run of Novels as utterly unfit for you. Instruction they convey none. They paint scenes of pleasure and passion altogether improper for you to behold, even with the mind's eye. Their descriptions are often loose and luscious in a high degree; their representations of love between the sexes are almost universally overstrained. All is dotage, or despair; or else ranting swelled into burlesque. In short, the majority of their lovers are either mere lunatics, or mock-heroes. A sweet sensibility, a charming tenderness, a delightful anguish, exalted generosity, heroic worth, and refinement of thought; how seldom are these best ingredients of virtuous love mixed with any judgment or care in the composition of their principal characters!_

Belle's breathing grew heavier and heavier as she read through the rest of the page. Then, she flipped to the beginning of the chapter to read the author's argument in its entirety. "I don't believe this!" she fumed.

"What's the matter, my dear?"

"Why, this writer is completely condemning romantic novels, as though they are an offense to a woman's virtue. He suggests that they contain nothing more than profane, superficial scenarios and characters, and that women would be better off reading instructional books if they are to be of any use to society. How can any woman with half a brain read those words and take them seriously?"

"Rome wasn't built in a day, my dear," Professeur Doucet said with an empathetic smile. "Still, you can't deny. By selling these kinds of books to the public, it legitimizes the idea that there _is_ a market for women readers. And where there's a market for women readers, there's a place to critique traditional norms of femininity and create new ones. Who knows? Perhaps you'll be the next _intellectuelle_ to tear apart Reverend Fordyce's sermons and talk about what women of 'good virtue' _should_ be reading."

Belle huffed indignantly. This wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind when she'd advocated for equal education rights for girls. But she supposed Professeur Doucet had a point. Progress was still progress, no matter how slowly it came. At least this way, she could rub it in the headmaster's face that reading _wasn't_ only for schoolboys. The merits of literature could be just as relevant to women as they could be to men.

* * *

When Belle left the bookshop twenty minutes later, it was to run into someone she'd hoped to never see again. Gaston was leaning against the window of the leathersmith's shop, a cocky grin on his face.

"Hello, Belle," he said in his annoyingly buoyant manner.

"Gaston," Belle curtly acknowledged, while keeping her eyes fixed on the road. A part of her wished that a chasm would appear in the ground and swallow him whole already. Instead, he decided to follow her. _Wonderful._

"I have to say, it's nice to see you out and about," he continued nonchalantly. "It's been quite lonely these past few weeks, not seeing your pretty face out on the streets."

"Oh, how careless of me," Belle deadpanned. "I didn't realize you expected me to act like one of your hunting trophies. So sorry I'm not free for you to admire whenever you please. Does this mean you're getting tired of looking at your reflection all day?"

"I was paying you a compliment, Belle," Gaston said seriously. "A simple 'thank you' would be nice. And a bit more smiling would do you some good as well."

Belle's grip on her wicker basket tightened. She spun around to fix the ex-soldier in a murderous glare. "I will smile whenever I want to, Gaston. Just because you're the hero of this town doesn't give you the right to tell me how to behave. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some errands to run. Goodbye."

She turned around and hustled away from him. To her surprise, Gaston didn't follow. Instead, he called out to her and said, "Do you smile at _him?"_

His bitter tone of voice caused Belle to stop dead in her tracks. She turned around again. "What are you talking about?"

"What, do you think I'm a fool?" Gaston's dark brows slanted in disapproval. "I've heard what the other villagers are saying. How you've spent the past month working at the castle as the Prince's librarian. That he's taken a _special_ interest in you. And the two of you often spend the afternoons together… alone and unchaperoned."

A sudden coldness hit Belle at the core of her chest. Still, she clenched her jaw and firmly responded, "That's none of your business."

"Oh, but it is." He stepped closer to her, and Belle was too arrested by her curiosity to continue walking away as she should have. "Don't you understand? You're playing right into the Prince's hands. He's _grooming_ you into being his next harlot. And for a beautiful, innocent young girl like you to fall for a scheme like that? Why… the thought is simply unbearable."

"You don't even know him," she argued. But internally, she could already feel her stomach beginning to churn unpleasantly. She knew Gaston was only toying with her, but his accusations had still hurt her in a way she did not expect.

"I know he's a man," he pointed out. "And men of his station are only after two things: power and satisfying their baser needs."

"He's more of a man than you!" Belle thundered.

Gaston took a step back, mouth agape. As usual, it was as though he was unable to even comprehend what she had just said. This only fueled her rage.

"Have you ever thought about what I want, Gaston?" she continued furiously. "I want to escape. To see the world and find someone who will accept me for who I am. Not wait around for some man to propose to me and tell me how I _should_ be living my life. The Prince understands that. And more than that, he's made a genuine effort to relate to me, while expecting nothing in return. He would never force me to do anything I don't want to do. He's my friend."

"You only _think_ he is," Gaston rebuffed. "That's because you don't know what he _used_ to be like. Before you and your father moved to Villeneuve, he would host the most gaudy balls at his castle and invite the most beautiful noblewomen to attend them. And it wasn't because he was interested in diplomacy or flexing his wealth—no sir! All he cared about was finding the _perfect_ young maiden to take to bed with him. He had a train of poor girls under his spell, and now he's doing the same to you. If you took a good look at the situation, you'd see that—"

"Shut it!" Belle shouted. Her vision flooded with tears. She couldn't stand listening to this boor any longer. She stormed back to her house, glad that for once, he didn't pursue her.

* * *

Once she was back at home, Belle locked the front door and dried her tear-stained cheeks with her handkerchief. She knew that Gaston was only trying to stir up trouble for her; undoubtedly in some new ploy to convince her to marry him. But she wasn't buying a minute of his deception. Adam _had_ changed. She knew he had. He said so. His servants had said so. His cousin had said so.

And—as Belle reminded herself—Gaston was no saint. Far from it, in fact. She had heard about the stories he shared in the tavern; the "hundreds of widows" he had gotten to know intimately during his time in the war. If he thought he was presenting himself as the more virtuous suitor for her benefit, he was woefully mistaken. Adam at least seemed to take no pride in talking about his past life as a philanderer. The most Belle had gotten out of him was that "he was pretending to be someone he wasn't." It wasn't much of an explanation, but it was one she could empathize with. She had stopped badgering him for more details after that.

There was only one person who could understand what Belle was feeling right now. And her relationship with him was currently… complicated, to say the least.

After making sure that Maurice wasn't in the house, Belle went upstairs to her room. She opened the trousseau chest at the end of her bed and pulled out the diary her father had given to her for her birthday last February. Flipping through the book, she reread the entry she had written yesterday—a barrage of unrestrained thoughts and emotions after days of trying to put that strange afternoon with Adam into words:

_I don't know what I find more alarming: the fact that he almost kissed me, or that for a few fleeting seconds, I wanted him to. I know I was attracted to him when first we met, but now that attraction has grown into something I thought only existed in fairy tales. He's like no man I've known before: intelligent, compassionate, always willing to listen to my thoughts. But there's a veil of sadness about him, a sadness that makes me want to reach out and pull him away from whatever darkness still plagues his mind. Considering all the time we've spent together; it's becoming harder for me to dismiss my feelings for him as a silly infatuation. After what happened in the ballroom on Monday, I'm starting to wonder if he feels the same._

_When he pulled away from me that day, it was as if I'd snapped out of a dream._ _I felt startled, then horrified. Who knew what could have happened if I'd let him kiss me? Our friendship would never be the same after. He might have wanted more from me or convinced me to become his lover. I find it hard to believe that a good man like Adam would ever ask such a thing from me, but this is all still so new and strange—I have to remind myself to be cautious. I can't let my_ _odd_ _attraction to him cloud my reason, Christian values or good sense._

 _Yet my feelings for him persist. Adam creeps into my thoughts at the strangest of times. I see him when I'm tending to the cabbages at the front of the house, feeding the chickens or staring at the ceiling before I drift off to sleep. When I'm at work, I think less about the books in his library_ _and more about the things we're going to do when my shift is over. The summer days seem warm and endless, especially when I'm with him. That much I can say is true._

 _Under normal circumstances, I suppose this is the point where we'd talk about our feelings and decide if they're worth pursuing. But aye, there's the rub: our relationship_ _isn't_ _normal. In fairy tales perhaps, but not in the real world. Here, we're bound by social class, birthrights and dozens of other factors all saying we shouldn't be together. Adam has been acting oddly distant lately too, which doesn't bolster my confidence_ _in_ _having that conversation with him. Not that I blame him for being a negligent friend. He has a lot on his plate right now: meeting with that Duke next week, finding a wife, burying his feelings for that servant girl. A part of me wants to comfort him, but I fear I'd only make things worse. Another part of me wonders if I should try to engage him at all. After all, my job will be over in less than a week. Soon I'll be back to my normal life, and Adam and I will have no reason to cross paths again._

 _Only, if I'm_ _completely_ _honest with myself, I_ _don't want things to go back to normal. I don't want to live the rest of my life through my books, waiting for some grand call to adventure that may never come. I've experienced more adventures with Adam than I have in all my twenty-two years of life. That's not something I can forget in a long time._

Belle looked up from the page and grabbed a pencil from her bedside table, wanting to add some more details to her last paragraph. Unfortunately, nothing new was coming to mind. Her eyes wandered aimlessly from her diary to the desk across from her bed, where her worn out copy of _The Tempest_ sat. It was a play she'd read several times already but could never seem to get enough of. She'd always envied the play's romantic leads; the way Miranda and Ferdinand knew from the moment they met each other that they were meant to be together. It was such a refreshing contrast from reality, where nothing was ever straightforward, and the man of your dreams wasn't always the man you were destined to be with.

The more Belle contemplated this fact, the more she felt that compulsive urge to escape from reality again. Heaving a sigh, she put away her diary and picked up Shakespeare's book. Soon, she was re-immersed in that blissful utopia, where love always triumphed over evil, and everything always ended exactly the way it was supposed to end.

* * *

Monday morning began as any other workday for Belle. She re-organized a few bookshelves, entered some more titles into Webster's ledger book, and used a feather duster to clean up the covers on the library's upper shelves. As she was doing this, she glanced through a nearby window and watched Adam play fetch with Sultan in the grounds. The boyish grin on his face was so sweet and endearing, it made Belle feel warm and flustered all at once. She suddenly imagined him in a very different scenario where instead of a dog, he was playing with a child—a son with blue eyes and reddish blonde hair.

She turned away from the window and sighed. Yes, Adam would marry, and soon. The thought disappointed her in more ways than she wanted to admit.

Belle continued to ply through the rest of the morning, and stopped only when she heard someone knock on the doors behind her. She turned around with a start. It was the Prince.

"Hello," he called out to her, a nervous expression on his face.

"Hello," she replied, observing him curiously. Normally, Adam came to see her _after_ her shifts, not during.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt."

"That's all right. What can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to tell you that I won't be able to go riding with you this afternoon," he said regretfully. "I'll be heading out to Comblenoir first thing tomorrow and want to take some time to help my servants prepare for the trip. I hope you understand."

"Of course." Given how many responsibilities Adam had to attend to in a single day, Belle knew that the time he'd spent with her this past month had been _more_ than generous. She was only glad that he was taking this moment to say goodbye to her before they officially parted ways tomorrow.

"I'm sorry if I've been a bit distant with you lately," he added contritely. "I just… I've had a lot of things on my mind."

"I understand."

"No, you don't." He rubbed the back of his neck, then stared at her intently. "Belle, there are so many things I want to tell you. So many things I want to explain. I just don't know where to start."

Belle's lips parted slightly. Was Adam trying to admit that he had feelings for her? Her heart beat a little faster at the prospect, but, even so, she refused to jump to conclusions. Even if she was correct, she couldn't encourage him to think of her as more than a friend. He had a kingdom to run, and a reputation to maintain, while she was only a peasant girl with nothing to offer him financially or politically. A romance, while enticing to think about, could never be.

"Then perhaps it is best to save it for another time," she suggested gently. "You have your meeting with the Duke to think about after all. And... his niece."

The Prince blushed and nodded reluctantly. "I have enjoyed our time together, Belle, truly. I will never forget the service you have bestowed to my library, to my servants, and to me. I wish you and your father all the best in your future endeavours. If you do end up leaving Villeneuve, perhaps you could send word to Mr. and Mrs. Potts or Cogsworth for me? I would love to see you off and… bid you a formal farewell."

"I will." Belle smiled and nodded. "I would like that very much."

Adam's eyes were like glass in the sunlight. Not for the first time, Belle wished she could read his mind. "Umm…" he hesitated again. "The other reason I'm here is to give you this." He held out a book he had been carrying under his arm. "I just finished reading it last night. I trust by now that you know which shelf it belongs to?"

Belle took the book from the Prince and inspected the cover closely. _"Guinevere and Lancelot?"_

"Well, actually"—he cleared his throat— _"King Arthur and the Round Table._ Knights, and men, and swords and things..."

"But still... it's a romance," she pointed out with a smirk.

"All right," he conceded. "I felt like a change."

Satisfied that she'd won the argument, Belle walked over to the ladder to return the Prince's book. Maybe there was a romantic side to Monsieur "I don't believe in true love" after all.

The ladder shook under Belle's weight as she climbed the first few steps. From behind her, Adam called out in a concerned tone, "Has that ladder always been that rickety?"

Belle snorted and turned back to look at him. "It's perfectly safe, Adam. I've been using this one for weeks. If I had a problem with it, I would have told Cogsworth already."

She took a few more steps up the ladder which continued to shake under her steady grip, but she paid it no heed. Adam was such a worrywart, acting as though he'd never thought of his librarian—whom he'd hired himself—climbing ladders before.

"Belle?" Adam called out again, a little louder this time. "I _really_ don't think you should be on that ladder."

"I'm fine!" she protested. She found the shelf that held Adam's King Arthur collection and placed his book together with the others. "Honestly."

Despite her reassurance, Adam's eyes continued to bore into her as she descended the steps. Now she was getting really annoyed. She hated being fussed over, and the fact that the Prince doubted she could complete a task as simple as climbing a ladder to re-shelve a book was utterly ridiculous. She was about to make a punchy remark about knowing how to handle herself when her left foot slipped on the step beneath her.

Her heart skipped a beat. In her effort to give a snarky response, she'd begun her descent without making sure she had both hands firmly gripping the ladder. Only one clear thought persisted: _I'm such an idiot_.

Not even a split-second later, she lost her footing and fell straight from the ladder.

"Belle!" Adam shouted in alarm.

It felt like several terrifying seconds had passed as she fell, but in reality, having not been even two storeys up, it could only have been three at most. She landed, not on the marble floor, but into the Prince's arms. Her breath was knocked out of her lungs. He must have been waiting to catch her at the base of the ladder in case this very incident occurred. His strong body was not impervious to gravity, however, and soon, the remaining force of her fall sent them both toppling to the ground.

The next thing Belle knew, she was lying on top of Adam in a highly compromising position and hoping their combined screams of terror hadn't travelled loudly enough to alert the servants. She wasn't sure she could handle the humiliation if they saw her with the Prince like this. Not to mention what her father would say if he found out.

"S-Sorry," she stammered.

Adam mustered a muffled grunt in reply.

Not wanting to inflict any further injury upon her rescuer, Belle tried to find a quick way to push herself off of him. This proved a challenge, however, as her hair had come loose from its ribbon during her fall, and now strands of it were hanging over her eyes, making it difficult to see what she was doing. She cautiously shifted her left hand, reaching for what she thought was the floor, but ended up pressing on the Prince's upper arm instead.

Adam let out a sharp cry of pain. The sound startled Belle so much that she fell on top of him again. This time, her lips crashed straight against his mouth.

Suddenly, Belle was no longer in the library, but somewhere else entirely. She could feel the heat of the sun on her skin, hear the buzzing of insects, and smell soil and softwood wafting through the air. And she was kissing someone… kissing them with so much passion and abandon that there were tears pooling in her eyes and a fire building in her stomach. She had never felt this way before, this profound sense of agony, longing, and sorrow all rolled into one. The only coherent thought she could latch onto was that whoever she was kissing, he had to know that she loved him, and she forgave him...

All of a sudden, Belle was back in the library. She rolled herself off of Adam with a heavy gasp, barely aware of her surroundings as he sat up next to her. Whatever she'd experienced a moment ago, it definitely _wasn't_ normal.

"Belle?" Adam said anxiously. "Are you all right?"

Belle looked over at him, and the sight of his wide greenish-blue eyes made her vision stand out even more clearly in her mind's eye. He had been there with her. She didn't understand how she knew this, but it was true. The revelation made her head spin and filled her mind with more questions than she could ever hope to answer.

Slowly, she opened her mouth, desperate to put even a sliver of her jumbled thoughts into words. "I…"

But before she could finish her sentence, something warm and sticky trickled out from her nose.

 _"Mon Dieu,"_ Adam cursed, recognizing what had happened a second before she did. "Your nose is bleeding."

He quickly pulled a handkerchief out of his waistcoat and pressed it against her face. Belle was still disoriented but had enough sense to mutter a thanks, take the cloth from him and pinch the soft part of her nose to control the bleeding.

"This is all my fault," he rambled on. "I should have known that that no-good carpenter was trying to oversell me by installing those shoddy ladders. I'm going to talk to Cogsworth and write a strongly worded letter to—"

"I saw something," Belle cut in faintly, needing to say her piece before the vision slipped away.

Adam paused. "You... _saw_ something?"

"Yes." She nodded. "Just now when I... fell on top of you. I was sitting under a tree in a big forest. It was summer. You were there with me and we were…" she hesitated, _"_ _kissing."_

She lifted her eyes to him, desperate for some acknowledgment, some clue that he understood her, but there was none. Instead, his lips puckered and his face turned white as a sheet.

"Did you see anything else?" he demanded.

"No."

His shoulders sagged in relief, but that fear still hadn't left his eyes. Belle bit her lip dejectedly. He obviously didn't believe her, and now she regretted saying anything on the subject. _Maybe the villagers are right. Maybe I_ am _just a funny girl. A funny girl who reads too many books, hallucinates unlikely scenarios, and speaks in tongues..._

"I think I ought to take you to see my physician," Adam said after another pause. "You might have a concussion."

"What about you?" It suddenly occurred to Belle that _she_ might have injured Adam when he'd broken her fall. Even though he had caught her willingly, it pained her to think of him developing a scar or breaking a bone on account of her carelessness. She might even be charged with harming the crown prince, an outcome that would surely throw all her dreams of seeing the world out the window.

"Nonsense," Adam assured her. "I've fallen from greater heights from my horses in the woods. I'm sure I'll be fine."

One look at Belle's reproving glare, and he immediately changed his tune. "Fine," he relented. "I'll see him as well once he's finished examining you. Now come on."

With a strained smile, he extended his hand to her and helped her back to her feet. Their faces were inches apart from each other now. As though he were afraid of breaking her, he tentatively reached forward and brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. The gesture made Belle's eyes well up with inexplicable tears. She badly wanted to kiss him—not in the clumsy, accidental way she just had, but with unrestrained fervour and desperation.

But why? Because she was grateful to him for saving her life? Because she feared the world would tilt from its axis if she didn't? It made no sense and yet the feeling lingered inside of her, like an uncontrollable itch.

And then she remembered that her hair was a mess and her face was partially covered in blood. It would hardly be appropriate to kiss him when she looked like such a fright. So she bowed her head and allowed him to lead her out of the room. Maybe this was all a strange dream—or a nightmare—she would soon wake from.

* * *

Docteur Pomme could find no evidence of a concussion, or any other life-threatening injuries during Belle's physical examination. He had her sit in the clinic for half-an-hour as a precaution, and after her nosebleed had stopped, and she showed no worsening symptoms, told her to go home and avoid doing any strenuous work for the rest of the day. Adam had left sometime after his own examination, saying he needed to talk to Cogsworth about fixing the ladder in the library. Belle didn't even have time to tell him that the fall had been her fault and not the ladder's, before he rushed out the door. He seemed eager to get away from her, much to her confusion and chagrin. She wondered if she would ever see him again and regretted ruining things badly enough to not be able to say a proper goodbye.

However, it soon became apparent that she had other things to worry about. As she walked back to the servants' quarters, Belle was suddenly struck by how unnaturally bright and clean the corridors looked. _But that's ridiculous,_ she said to herself. _The castle has always been this way, hasn't it?_ She nearly jumped out of her skin as she heard Lumière and Cogsworth whispering behind her, but when she glanced over her shoulder, no one was there. A terrific chill ran down her spine. This castle, which she had once considered her second home, now felt terribly terribly wrong. She hastened her walk to the exit, feeling that she couldn't get back to her village fast enough.

On the buggy ride out of the castle, Belle stared absently out at the horizon. In the far distance of the grounds was a stone footbridge overlooking a lake. Adam had taken her there once to show her the water lilies, and Belle had been entranced by how utterly romantic the place was. It would be a perfect location for a marriage proposal, though she hadn't told him that at the time.

A sudden wave of dizziness overtook her. When she opened her eyes again, she was walking with someone on that same footbridge, only now it was the dead of winter, and the lake was frozen over. In her hands she held a book which she read aloud from in a measured cadence:

 _"The air is blue and keen and cold  
_ _And in a frozen sheath enrolled_  
 _Each branch, each twig, each blade of grass  
_ _Seems clad miraculously with…"_

She paused, suddenly realizing that her companion had stopped to stare at the wintry scene in front of them. _"Glass,"_ she finished, regarding him curiously.

Her chaperone was an enormous beast with horns like a bison's and a body covered from head to foot in thick brown fur. Yet despite his frightening appearance, Belle did not feel threatened by this creature. On the contrary, he felt familiar, like a dear friend she had known for a very long time.

"It's as if I'm seeing it for the first time," he admitted after a moment of silence.

Belle searched the Beast's face in surprise. He was dressed like a man, and his eyes were the exact same shape and colour as Adam's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It had always been my plan for Belle to eventually get back her memories of her earlier timelines, and now that time has finally come. Rest assured that the angst in the following chapters will be nothing short of delicious.
> 
> I would also like to note that it's very unlikely that a bookshop in pre-revolutionary France would be selling books by an English protestant like James Fordyce, but as it was one of the only eighteen-century women's conduct books I could find online without having to go through a paywall or sifting through some hard to read primary document scans, I decided to make do. I find it funny that the villagers (namely the headmaster) in the 2017 film treat women and reading like a huge scandal, when in reality, reading material for women at that time was not _that_ uncommon. To be more historically accurate, the townspeople should have been criticizing Belle for reading books for enjoyment, instead of for instructional or religious purposes, which was more socially acceptable for women to do at the time. Obviously Disney had to dumb down some details for a family movie, but as someone who studied women's history and literature for a while in university, you can say that this oversimplification bothered me just a tad.
> 
> Anyways, Happy Holidays, stay safe and looking forward to sharing some new updates with you all in the New Year!


	8. Chapter 8

Dinner that night was a quiet affair. Belle stared absently at her bowl of cabbage soup on the table, while Maurice prattled on about his latest developments on the windmill box, and how he had reconfigured the mechanical linkages to make the crank easier to turn. Normally, this sort of talk would fascinate Belle, but tonight, her thoughts were elsewhere. Her visions—which she'd hoped would go away once she returned to Villeneuve—had only gotten worse. Upon disembarking from the buggy on the outskirts of town, she'd heard more voices around her; fragmented conversations between herself and Gaston, Père Robert, Maurice, even Adam. And she'd had a faint recollection of a homeless woman with a weather-beaten face wandering the streets, begging for jams and alms. Belle swore she had known this woman on a first-name basis once, but who she was and where she had come from escaped her memory.

Needless to say, these spontaneous visions and echoes were beginning to scare her. It was one thing to read about someone's experiences in a book, and another to _see_ then directly in her mind, with no means of stopping them. Docteur Pomme had ruled out the possibility of a concussion during her physical examination, leaving her to make wild guesses at the cause of her affliction. Either they were visions from God, like the ones the mystics used to receive in the Middle Ages, or the effects of some mysterious black magic. Or perhaps there was a third possibility: that they were harmless manifestations of an overactive imagination and the stress of almost losing her life back in the library.

Whatever the reasons, Belle decided to keep quiet about the ordeal when she came home. Maurice had been surprised to see her back so early, to which she'd explained that she'd sustained a minor injury at work—nothing serious, but the castle physician had sent her home as a precaution. She wasn't sure how her father would react if she told him about her visions and didn't want to worry him on the slight chance that she was making a mountain out of a molehill. She hadn't even told him about the Prince rescuing her from her fall, or how she'd kissed him by accident in the ensuing chaos. That part was especially confusing to think about. She could only pray that Adam knew she had not meant anything by that kiss and that it would not affect their relationship going forward.

But despite her best efforts, Belle couldn't stay silent forever. It wasn't long before Maurice noticed his daughter was acting strangely and looked up from his dinner to address her. "Are you all right, Belle? You've been awfully quiet. Is it the soup? You know you can tell me if I put too much salt in it."

"It's fine," Belle murmured. "I'm just… worn out from today, that's all."

Her father stared at her thoughtfully, then nodded in understanding. "You shouldn't beat yourself up about what happened, you know. Accidents happen all the time. Why, did I ever tell you about the time your mother got struck by a runaway cart when she was running some errands in the _quartier latin?_ She broke her leg and had to spend weeks on bedrest. The doctor thought she'd never be able to walk properly again. But your mother was determined to prove him wrong. She made a full recovery and got pregnant with you shortly after."

"Maman…" Belle placed a hand to her forehead, suddenly overtaken by another wave of dizziness. "She died because she was sick, wasn't she? She caught the plague when it came through Paris and you had to take me away and leave her behind..."

Maurice's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in disbelief. "How could you possibly know that?"

She lowered her gaze. "I-I don't know."

All she knew was that she had a picture in her mind that wasn't there before, of standing in a crumbling, dusty attic full of nothing but old drawings, a baby rattle shaped like a rose and a plague mask. And the Beast—she didn't know his real name, or if he even had one—had been there with her, helping her uncover the details of her mother's death. Once they'd pieced together all the evidence and realized what had happened, Belle wished that she'd never learned the truth.

She slouched back in her seat, overcome by a tremendous wave of sadness—not so much for her mother, but something nameless and intangible, like a long-forgotten dream. A dense fog clouded her thoughts, preventing her from discerning fact from fiction. Had she always known how her mother had died, and somehow buried that truth away, deep within her heart of hearts? But then, how could she justify the Beast being with her in the attic? Surely a creature like him couldn't exist beyond the pages of a storybook. But to her, he seemed as real as the sunset, and her father sitting across from her at the table. It made no sense, and yet—

"Belle?"

She looked back up at her father, who was staring at her with his lips pursed and his brows drawn in concern.

Opening her mouth, she tried to think of something reassuring to say to him, but her mind came up empty. "I'm not feeling well," she said after a prolonged moment of silence. "I think I'm going to turn in early tonight."

Without another word, she set down her spoon and headed upstairs. Maurice didn't stop her, but his worried stare followed her the entire way.

Once she was in her bedroom, Belle closed the door behind her, stripped down into her chemise and washed her face using the basin on her bedside table. Then, she took out her rosary and prayed as hard as she could, careful to make sure that she didn't miss a single bead on her string. After she had completed her last prayer to the Virgin Mary, she added a prayer for herself: to be rid of these strange visions and whatever unnatural forces might be responsible for conjuring them. She hoped that sleep would come easily to her that night. But it didn't.

The moment her head hit her pillow; Belle was plagued by another series of vivid, disconcerting images. A pack of wolves surrounded her in a snowy forest, and the Beast was fending them off with his bare paws. They were having a snowball fight in the castle grounds and the Beast had thrown a ball at her so hard that the impact sent her falling flat on her back. She was dancing with him in the ballroom; a scene that would seem utterly abnormal in any other circumstance, but to her, felt perfectly natural. As he lifted her into the air and spun her around the room, she felt a strange sense of vulnerability and weightlessness, a feeling she'd never experienced around anyone before…

The Beast's face faded and morphed into another set of memories. She was bickering with Adam by the side of a riverbank _—_ something about needing to find her father and insisting he was responsible for helping her. They were standing on the balcony of another castle, dressed in fine clothes and opening up to each other about their pasts. They were at a campsite and he was fencing with a man twice his size before a devastating explosion turned their world upside down and set it on fire. Belle somehow managed to land in the canvas of a broken tent, which cushioned her fall. But Adam was not as lucky. When she found him bleeding to death in the burning rubble, she knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

 _Evening had fallen, and the fugitives had stopped to camp in the woods, right on the border between Pays de la Loire and Brittany. At the pace they were_ _moving_ _at, Agathon predicted that it would be another six hours before they reached the Forest of Brocéliande. To Belle, that moment could not come fast enough. They had been on the road for over half a day since the explosion, trying to throw off King Gaston's men. As much as she loathed to admit it, "adventure in the great wide somewhere" was beginning to take its toll on her. She had not expected this journey to be so physically or emotionally taxing when she'd first signed up for it. Nor had she considered the potential casualties she'd have to shoulder along the way._

_She knelt next to her wounded patient and applied a damp cloth to his feverish forehead. While Agathon had healed the worst of his injuries with a potion he'd made that morning, Adam was still in bad shape, and would likely be that way for a while. Not only had he lost an alarming amount of blood, but he was fighting off both an infection and the residual effects of Médée's truth-telling potion. Based on Agathon's assessment, he would not regain consciousness in quite some time. And as awful as it sounded, Belle was secretly glad. At least this way, she'd have more time to process his confession in the tent and what it all meant exactly._

_Her thoughts were interrupted as the Prince suddenly stirred beneath her and opened his eyes. His gaze met hers seconds later. "Belle?" he said weakly._

_Belle gasped and pulled herself away from him. She hadn't expected him to wake up so soon. Now she was struggling to think of something to say that would fill the awkward silence between them._

_She didn't have to think long, however, before he smiled faintly and added, "You came back."_

_It was the strange tenderness in his voice that made her remember how to speak again. "O-Of course I did," she stammered. "You were injured. There was no way I was going to leave you alone in the King's camp like that."_

_Adam seemed confused by this answer. With furrowed brows, he replied, "But I'm a_ monster. _I imprisoned you in my castle and sent your father away. My life isn't yours to be concerned with anymore. You should be far away from here."_

Castle? _It was a second before Belle understood. He was hallucinating. He believed he was back in that other timeline, the one where he'd been transformed into a hideous beast and had forced her to live with him as his prisoner. Despite the absurdity of his tale, Belle had opened herself to the possibility that it was true, wanting to support his quest to end King Gaston's regime above anything else. She hadn't fully believed in his words… until now._

 _As she looked into Adam's eyes, Belle saw a haunting darkness and vulnerability there; a small window into the torment he'd suffered for those five terrible years. There was something else too, a kind of profound desperation, like when he was looking at her, he was looking at the meaning of life itself. No one had ever looked at her that way before, and it made her_ _feel… flustered? Uncertain? Confused? But it was only for a moment before he blinked and turned away from her._

_"Oh, I was such a fool," he lamented. "How could I ever think I deserved your love, being what I am? It was just a dream. Just a stupid dream."_

Love. _Belle exhaled sharply. There was that word again. He had said it back when Médée was interrogating him, confessing in a broken, anguished voice that he loved her. She had stood there in frozen shock, unsure of how she was supposed to react._

How long has he been hiding that secret from me? _Based on the way he was addressing her now; it must have been for far longer than she'd expected. He'd spent three days with her on the road, repressing his emotions, pretending he didn't think of her as anything more than an irritating piece of filth on his boots, and she'd had no idea._

 _When Belle looked at her unsuspecting admirer again, he had gone back to sleep,_ _and she felt strangely unsatisfied. Her mind was racing with dozens of questions that only one person could possibly answer._

* * *

_"So, how is he?" asked Agathon._

_He and Belle were sitting around the campfire, eating the wild vegetable soup he'd cooked for them earlier. Of all the crazy things Belle had learned about this week, Agathon's true identity as an enchanter had come as the lightest shock. His eccentricity and potent herbal remedies had always been the talk of her village, making his backstory the easiest to accept. She also couldn't deny that his magic had been a boon in saving Adam's life and getting them out of danger. Even now, as they stopped to camp, he'd gone to painstaking lengths to cast protective spells around their campsite, while collecting more herbs to grind into medicine for Adam. He had done nothing to break their trust, and for that, he had earned Belle's respect and gratitude._

_"He's not exactly…_ better," _she told him hesitantly. "But he's not getting worse either. He woke up for a bit when I was tending to him earlier. Only… I'm almost entirely sure he was hallucinating."_

_"Really?" Agathon tilted his head. "What did he say?"_

_"Well, he was very disoriented for one. He thought he was a monster and said I should have left his castle to be with my father already. And then he said something about not deserving my love. When he looked at me it was like… like he was looking at someone else."_

_"Hmm. Well, isn't that something?" Agathon scratched his beard. "Fevers and bad potions aren't exactly a recipe for a sound mind—that much is certain. But I'm sure he'll be back to normal in a few more days."_

_Belle nodded, having convinced herself as much. But somehow, she'd expected an enchanter who knew a lot about potions and healing fatal injuries to know a bit… more? "It's just, I heard him say something similar when Médée was interrogating him at the campsite," she elaborated. "At one point, she asked him if he loved me. He tried to resist at first, but eventually, he said that he did. It made me wonder…" She looked up at the Enchanter again. "Do you know anything_ more _about his past?"_

 _"Ah. Well, that's a bit of a vague question to ask, mademoiselle_. _The nature of my answer would depend on which part of his past you're referring to exactly."_

 _"I_ know _he's a time-traveller," she emphasized. "And I also know that he killed your twin sister by accident. Though his reasons for getting_ here _are still difficult for me to wrap my head around."_

_"Why not start with what you know?" he encouraged._

_She shrugged. "I suppose."_

_With a deep breath, she reiterated to him what Adam had told her about his time-travelling misadventures. Primarily, that he was once a cursed beast who'd used a_ _magic_ _book to reverse time and prevent his spell from happening_. _His last attempt at destroying the enchantress who'd bewitched him had brought him to this reality, which he was now desperate to undo. That was where Agathon came in._

_"I just feel like there was something more he wasn't telling me," she concluded. "Something about our history that he'd chosen to hide."_

_"It is possible." Agathon nodded. "Maybe… well, I think you'd be better off asking him about it yourself when he wakes up."_

_"But what if he doesn't want to tell me?" she persisted. "It took him three days to reveal the full details of his mission to me. Who knows how much longer it will take for him to open up again after he recovers? You tended to his wounds after he helped my father escape from the King_. _Did he say anything to you then? Anything at all?"_

 _Agathon sighed and proceeded to stoke the campfire with a broken branch he was holding. "If you really must know, his curse_ was _reversible," he_ _disclosed_ _. "But the conditions he needed to break it were nearly impossible. That's why he went back in time. He wanted to try again."_

_"What were his conditions?" asked Belle, leaning closer to the flames._

_"Ah ah." He waggled his finger at her. "I've said my part and that's as far as I'll go. Let him tell you the rest when he's ready. And believe me, he_ will _tell you."_

 _"Hmph." Belle crossed her arms and scowled. Any other person would have accepted Agathon's words at face value, but she was stubborn and therefore, unwilling to give in so easily. "If I'm supposed to be supporting him, I have to know the full story of his past, not what he chooses to tell me._ _Besides, it's part of my history, too. I think I at least have the right to understand my part in this, and ideally from someone who's an impartial observer to it all."_

 _Agathon's mouth twitched at the sides._ _"You really are a perceptive girl, you know that? If your kind wasn't so fixated on gender norms, I'd almost suggest you consider a career in law enforcement. Fine. Here's what I know. When my sister came to the Prince's castle to test him, she offered him a rose as payment for shelter from a bitter storm. After he turned her away, she cursed him and left him the rose as a timepiece. Her rules were simple: earn the love of another and earn their love in return before the last petal fell. If not, he would remain a beast for all time. And so, he waited for five years, watching the petals fall, with no hope of fulfilling her terms. Then one day, an old man gets lost in the woods and stumbles across his castle. The Beast imprisons the man for stealing a rose from his gardens but doesn't count on him having a daughter who's reckless enough to look for him. When she finds him locked up in his dungeon, she makes an exchange: her freedom for her old man's. For the Beast, it's the one opportunity he's been waiting for."_

_"But Adam told me he let me go because my sentence was up," Belle objected. "If he needed to keep me as his prisoner to break his curse, why would he suddenly change that arrangement?"_

_"You know, for someone who's supposedly read enough books to fill the Library of Alexandria, I'd think the answer would be quite obvious." Agathon smirked. "The quick answer is:_ love. _It makes us do crazy things, forces us to put other people's needs before our own, even break rules we swore we'd never break. In my younger years, I used to_ hate _my sister. I thought she was such a show-off, flaunting her powers, preaching about how we had a 'moral obligation' to fix mankind's problems. I wanted nothing to do with her… that was, until the day I lost her. Now I'd give anything to have her back. Your prince must have felt the same way when he let you go. He loved you so much, he wanted to try whatever he could to get another chance with you."_

_Belle wrapped her arms around her knees and stared absently into the fire. "I just… I'm not sure how to feel about all this," she admitted. "I was so awful to him when we first met. Even now, I'm not sure if I can return his affections."_

_"Nor is he expecting you to," Agathon said gently. "_ _The important thing is that we get_ _him to the Nexus Tree so he can fix this timeline. I'm going to take the first watch tonight. I'll wake you up when I need you. Now get some rest."_

 _Belle nodded and placed a hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn. She had been a bag of mixed emotions since yesterday, worrying about Adam's health, trying to focus on the mission, replaying that startling confession over and over in her mind. Maybe a few hours of sleep was what she needed to clear her head. At least, she_ hoped _this would be the case._

* * *

_In the middle of the night, Belle awoke_ _to the sound of loud moaning and sobbing coming from across the campsite._

 _"No! I'm sorry. Please… please, forgive me. I didn't mean it. I'll do anything._ Anything!"

_Her eyes shot open like a bullet. That was Adam's voice! In a flash, she threw aside her blankets and rushed towards his sleeping spot. What she saw there made her heart sink. Adam was thrashing violently in his blankets, as though an invisible enemy were attacking him. The sight made her sick to her stomach. All that movement would do no good for his wound—assuming he hadn't reopened it already. And with Agathon still away on watch, it fell to her to minimize the damage._

_"Adam!" she called out to him hoarsely. "It's alright. It's just a dream!"_

_When he continued to thrash wildly in place, she knelt to his level and shook his shoulders. "Adam!"_

_He opened his e_ _yes and stared at her in wide-eyed bewilderment._ _"B-Belle?"_

_"Yes, it's me."_

_His mouth trembled. "Oh, Belle. I don't want to go back. I don't want to go back to being_ him. _I just wanted to be free, but look at what it's cost me—"_

_"Shh," she cooed. "You were having a nightmare. Go back to sleep."_

_Even in the semi-darkness, she could see how bright and glossy his eyes were. He stopped struggling_ _and lay still, though h_ _is breathing continued to be rapid and heavy. "I… I thought I lost you," he uttered._

_His fingers lightly brushed against her hand, causing her to shudder in surprise. He was trying to reach for her but was too weak to do so._

_Her heart pounded loudly_ _in her ears as she considered her options. She had never been one for physical contact, especially with people she didn't know very well... but perhaps the gesture would comfort the Prince in his delirium? Slowly, she slipped her hand under his and_ _watched his reaction. He responded to her almost immediately_ , _knotting his fingers through hers and caressing the side of her hand with his thumb. His skin was_ _remarkably_ _soft and warm against her own._

_Gradually, his breathing steadied and his eyelids fluttered shut._

_"Thank you," he muttered before drifting back into unconsciousness._

_Belle remained motionless for the next few minutes, afraid of pulling her hand away in case she woke him again._ Why am I doing this? _she asked herself._ Is it because I'm concerned for his well-being as a friend? Or… is it because I feel something more?

 _All she knew was that she had to check on the wound. So, once she was sure that he was asleep, she lifted his blanket and the bottom of his shirt to assess the damage. There was no blood leaking through his bandages, much to her relief, meaning that Agathon's potion was doing its job. Still, she made a mental note to tell the Enchanter what had happened when they switched shifts later. Given his years of healing experience, he would be a much better judge of knowing if Adam's bandages needed to be change_ _d or not_. _And as much as Belle worried for_ _her patient, she'd rather not make the mistake of trying to fix something that didn't need to be fixed._

 _After covering him up with his blanket again, Belle drew her attention to Adam's sleeping face. Now that his breathing had settled, she could almost appreciate how serene he looked; completely disconnected from reality and unburdened by the world's problems._ _The sight brought a small smile to her lips and a painful lump to her throat._ All he wanted was to get his humanity back. To know what it was to love and be loved in return. _She should have hated him for ruining so many lives to pursue those desires._ _He was no different from his brother, or any of the other selfish aristocrats who ran her country._ _Instead, she could only think of how deeply he wore that guilt, to the point that it haunted him in his sleep. He'd tried to protect her from his mistakes by pretending to abandon his kingdom when he wanted to sacrifice himself for it._ _And she'd been too riled up in her own self-righteousness to question if he was carrying a deeper secret beneath all that callousness._

_The realization of her folly stung like a sharp slap to the face. Her vision blurred as a well of tears trickled from her eyes._

She could still feel them running down her face when she woke up.

* * *

As morning broke over the little town, Belle felt like she'd barely slept. Her dream about looking after the Prince had been followed by several others, all in various levels of vividness. It was as though she had lived three different lives in one night, but barely understood what any of it meant. She lacked the mental energy to process it all without getting a headache.

Upon rising from her bed, Belle felt a wave of aches and chills run down her body. When she walked to her wardrobe, her limbs could not seem to move in sync with her brain. Something told her that she shouldn't go to work today, but she quickly banished the thought. This was her last day at the castle, and there were still so many things she had to do. Finish reorganizing the bookshelf by the fireplace, say goodbye to her friends, pick up the last of her wages from the castle accountant. Whatever sickness she carried; she was sure she could weather it. She refused to let her restless night overrule her priorities or her sense of reality.

Belle had no idea how she managed to get dressed, make breakfast, or leave the house in time to catch the eight o'clock wagon to the castle. She didn't see her father on the way out, so she assumed he'd slept in or gone down to the cellar early to work on his music boxes. She felt guilty about leaving him alone to clean up dinner last night and reminded herself to apologize to him for it later.

As she was passing through the servants' entrance, a voice called out to her in surprise. "Belle?"

She turned towards the sound and almost screamed. Just a few feet away from her was a porcelain teapot sitting on an ornate tea trolley. The teapot had a face like a woman's, _and it was blinking at her._

Belle took a step back and pressed her hands over her eyes. When she looked up again, Mrs. Potts was standing where the tea trolley had been. Her brows were furrowed with concern.

"So sorry, love, I didn't mean to startle you. But you look as pale as a ghost! What's happened?"

"N-nothing," Belle stuttered while peering around the cook to see if the teapot was still there. It wasn't. "I'm perfectly fine."

Mrs. Potts continued to frown at the young woman, clearly unconvinced. She placed her hand against her forehead, then drew it back in alarm. "My goodness, I shouldn't say so! You're burning up something awful. Come on, let me take you somewhere to lie down."

"No, really, Mrs. Potts, I'm fine," Belle insisted. "I didn't get enough sleep last night, that's all." No sooner had she said it than another dizzying sensation overtook her senses. She could hear Mrs. Potts saying something about "most troubles being less troubling after a bracing cup o' tea" but had no idea when or _why_ she had said such a thing.

By now, the real Mrs. Potts' eyebrows had risen so high, they looked about ready to fly off her forehead. "We'll let the physician be the judge of that," she declared. "Come now—and not another word about being 'fine.' I know a fever when I feel it."

Before Belle could protest again, the matronly woman escorted her over to the servants' quarters. She set her up in an unused bedroom and told her to lie down while she sent another servant to find Docteur Pomme. Belle tried to stay awake, but her eyes were so sore and heavy; it soon became apparent that she was fighting a losing battle. She drifted off again, and the dreams she dreamt were far from pleasant.

* * *

Docteur Pomme confirmed that Belle was indeed running a high fever, though how she had acquired it so quickly remained a mystery. Given her debilitating state, he knew that sending her back to Villeneuve was out of the question. They would have to keep her at the castle until he could run some more tests and fully diagnose her condition.

With the help of Plumette, Mrs. Potts changed Belle out of her dress and into a clean nightshift. They opened all the windows in the room and brought in a basin of cold water and a washcloth to soothe her burning skin. Finally, Mrs. Potts fed her a few spoonfuls of ginger tea infused with honey and lemon juice, hoping to bring down her raging fever.

Whether these treatments had any effect on the young librarian was anyone's guess. The girl began to toss and turn in her sleep, calling out for "Adam" or "Beast" at random intervals. The second word especially concerned the older woman. The way she said it… it was like she was calling for a person instead of a creature. Only, it was a person Mrs. Potts had never heard of before, neither at the castle nor at Villeneuve.

As castle matriarch—a position she had held for many years—Beatrice Potts was no stranger to sickness. Fever, infection, smallpox and consumption were some of the many illnesses she had treated during her time here. But to see a kind and intelligent girl like Belle fall victim to an illness that was just as severe as it was mysterious was utterly devastating. She genuinely feared for the girl's life and hoped she had enough strength to overcome whatever had caused her affliction.

When Mrs. Potts left the room, Lumière and Cogsworth were standing outside the door with identical expressions of concern on their faces.

"How is she?" Lumière asked first.

Mrs. Potts lowered her gaze. "I don't want to jump to conclusions. But I can say that it's a very good thing she came to us when she did. At least this way, she'll have around-the-clock care and a comfortable place to rest while she recovers. Everything else is in the Lord's hands."

Cogsworth nodded solemnly. "I've spoken to John, and he's gone over to Villeneuve to tell Monsieur Gagnier what's happened. He'll bring him back here in case he wants to see his daughter or spend the night."

"Thank you, Cogsworth." Mrs. Potts smiled approvingly. "I'm sure Maurice will appreciate that."

Lumière bit his lip and leaned in to whisper to Mrs. Potts, "Do you think we should let the Master know?"

"What, are you mad?" Cogsworth said, having overheard his co-worker despite his whispering. "He'd be halfway to Courbecour by now and won't be back for at least another week. Besides, he has his meeting with the Duke of Pontavice to worry about. He has far more important things to focus on than the health of one servant girl."

Lumière looked at him, aghast, and shook his head. "I clearly gave you far more credit than you deserve, _mon ami._ How could you not see he cares for Belle as more than a servant alone? It is obvious! Mrs. Potts, surely, you agree?"

"I won't deny noticing a spark between them," Mrs. Potts admitted. "They were very comfortable together, which is unusual for both of them. And Belle has been calling for him in her sleep, which I wouldn't write off as a coincidence. But whether it would be worth sending a messenger to tell the Master about her condition is a different matter."

"Doesn't it seem strange that she gets sick on the same day the Master leaves for Comblenoir?" Lumière questioned. "Maybe something happened between them."

"Like what?" asked Cogsworth.

 _"Je ne sais pas."_ He shrugged. "Perhaps... he broke her heart. Fevers can sometimes result from powerful emotions like grieving and heartache, can't they? There is a possibility she attempted to confess her feelings when they were in the library, and he rejected her. If she thought he was misleading her, then it is no wonder she is so afflicted."

"He seemed awfully quiet after she went home yesterday," Cogsworth admitted. "I assumed it was because he was concerned about her injury, or his trip, but perhaps I was mistaken."

"We can speculate as much as we want, but it won't do any good unless we can hear it firsthand from Belle or the Master," Mrs. Potts concluded. "What we _can_ do is wait for Docteur Pomme's prognosis. Who knows? Maybe she has a minor case of influenza and will recover before the Prince returns."

"Maybe," Lumière repeated in a half-hearted tone.

The three of them stood together in mutual silence, lost in their own thoughts. None of them knew what the future held for Belle and could only pray that God in all His wisdom had the answer.


	9. Chapter 9

Adam and Chapeau arrived at the Château de Courbecour shortly after one o'clock that afternoon. Since they arrived so early, Adam had plenty of time to settle into his guest suite, write a letter to his cousin and review his notes for his meeting with the Duke de Pontavice on Wednesday.

When evening came, he went downstairs to eat dinner with the Prince de Mailly-Nesle and his family. Though he tried his hardest to listen to his host's discussion on new trade opportunities with Germany, he could feel his concentration slipping as the night progressed. Many times, he had to ask the prince to repeat himself—a blunder that was only excused by the long length of the table and the persistent clanging of everyone's plates and silverware. He couldn't shake off the feeling that something was amiss, but for sake of being a polite guest, forced himself to bury the sentiment and continue the conversation.

After the dessert plates were cleared away, Adam bid goodnight to his hosts and returned to his chambers. Only then did he allow himself to focus on what had been bothering him all day: his unfinished business at the Château de la Rose, which had the potential to turn disastrous if he didn't find a way of fixing it.

For the past week, Adam had toyed with telling Belle everything about their past. Spit it out without sugar-coating anything or hiding his true feelings for her. If she didn't believe him or thought he was making fun of her, so be it. At least she'd know the truth, even if to her, it would seem far from truthful. He could part ways with her in peace, knowing he'd tried being honest and still come up empty.

But his nerves had failed him not once, but twice. The first time was when he'd walked into the library to say his goodbyes. He would have shared everything with her right then and there, if she hadn't made him second guess himself by bringing up the Duke's niece. Adam didn't want to marry Mademoiselle de Pontavice. He didn't even _know_ her. But maybe Belle was right, and the truth could wait a little longer. Maybe if he put off telling the tale until he returned from Courbecour, he'd find a better way of explaining everything without sounding like a fool.

The second time he'd lost his courage was when Belle had fallen from the ladder after returning _Guinevere and Lancelot_ to the upper shelves _._ As Adam helped her off the floor and searched her face, he could think of only two things: how he'd nearly lost her, and how desperately he wanted to kiss her.

Which was not only irrational, but stupid. Belle was frightened enough without him bearing down at her like a dumbstruck mule. A kiss from him would not only be improper; it would be far from welcome. So, he settled for brushing a strand of hair away from her face instead—an innocent gesture, but one that left a hollow feeling in his stomach. He spent the whole walk to Docteur Pomme's clinic thinking of how close he'd been to opening his heart to her, only to bow out again when the opportunity finally showed itself.

Of course, he may have felt less hesitant about confessing his feelings if it weren't for an incident that occurred a few moments earlier. In a shaky voice, Belle had told him she'd seen them _kissing_ under a tree in the summertime. All the blood had drained from Adam's face. There was no way she could have remembered their first kiss in Brocéliande. Agathe had promised him it wouldn't happen—only he could remember that other reality. But then again, Adam already knew that enchanters and their magic could be as fickle as the wind. Had Belle somehow remembered that moment, just by being in his presence? Or had her impromptu kiss—if he could call it that—been the catalyst? Adam had no answers, but the possibility of her regaining her memories gave him every reason to panic. It was one thing to tell her everything himself, and another for her to remember it all on her own. He didn't want her memories of the past to influence her present. He'd tried to avoid revealing their secret for that very reason.

And so, he escorted her to Docteur Pomme's clinic, pretending he didn't have a clue what she was talking about. He left her behind with barely a word, knowing that distancing himself was the best way to escape that impossible situation. He'd taken things too far and let himself get too close. It was time to rethink his priorities and put the girl behind him, for good.

 _I am a Prince of France,_ he told himself firmly. _My duty is to my kingdom first and my heart second._ He'd spent five years trying to correct the mistakes of the past. He sure as hell wasn't about to relapse after everything he'd overcome. Maybe it would be better to marry Mademoiselle de Pontavice immediately, just to shut that door while he still could. Marriage would put an end to this pointless sentimentality; always moping about and pining for a life that might have been.

It sounded like a great idea in theory, so why did it leave him feeling so unsatisfied? He crossed his arms and paced restlessly around the room; certain he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight.

What he needed was a drink. A stiff drink that would numb his senses and silence that infernal voice in his head: _"You shouldn't have left Belle behind. You had a perfect opportunity to make things right with her, and you blew it."_ Sure, he'd be breaking his sobriety for the first time in five years, but it wasn't like anyone had to know about it. It was just for one night. Then he'd be fine again.

Decision made, Adam rang the bell near the door of his guest room. As he waited for a valet to appear, he sat on the edge of the bed and watched the rain drip against the windowpanes.

After a minute or two, he heard the door swing open, followed by the creak of hurried footsteps against the hardwood. "Yes, Your Highness?"

"Bring me a bottle of liquor, please. Any kind will do."

There was a pause, and then the servant asked, "Is that how you greet an old acquaintance?"

Registering the man's familiar voice, Adam turned around and gasped. Not a valet, but a bearded man in a threadbare cloak stood by the door. His blonde hair hung loosely from his shoulders, and his eyes were grey and sharp-looking.

Adam stood up from the mattress, eyes wide in disbelief. "Agathon?"

"Yes, it's me." The Enchanter smirked. "Seems I arrived at the perfect time, too. Didn't anyone tell you that liquor is _seriously_ bad for your liver?"

Adam's cheeks burned, feeling like a child whose hand had been caught in the cookie jar. Wanting to divert the subject to one more pressing, he asked, "How did you get in here? The prince's guards… there's no way—"

"I have my methods," Agathon replied with a mischievous grin. "Agathe's not the only one who knows to slip into a castle unannounced. The only difference is, I prefer doing it with less bravado, and _without_ dousing any candlesticks."

Adam wasn't sure if he was supposed to laugh or tilt his head at this strange comment. Instead, he said, "Why are you here?"

"I'm here on behalf of my sister," Agathon answered. "She wanted to be here herself, only she's away in Tibet, learning how to meditate from some monks." He rolled his eyes, and Adam wasn't sure if he was more annoyed at his sister, or the fact that she was meditating with some monks in Tibet. "Also, she felt you'd be more open to hearing this information if it came from me than her." He took a quick glance around the room. "Do you mind if we sit down? My feet are _killing_ me."

Adam had no reason to refuse, especially when Agathon had promised to share some seemingly important information from his sister. He gestured in earnest to two armchairs at the corner of the room where they could continue their conversation.

"So, what is this message from Agathe?" he asked as they took their seats. On the table between them was a bowl of fruit. Agathon inspected it with interest, then picked a green apple out from the lot. Adam was a little annoyed but didn't stop him. After all, he still owed the man a great deal for helping him out of his last timeline.

"Let's just say there's been a slight… _deviation_ in her magic," Agathon explained. "The same spell she used to bring you back to your original reality has found its way to somebody else. Nothing serious, but still important to know about."

"Who is this 'somebody else?'" Adam questioned, while left with a sinking suspicion that he already knew the answer.

"It's Belle. She's remembering her other timelines. And not just a few scattered memories. She's remembering _everything."_

Adam winced. Agathon had confirmed everything he'd feared, and worse. "But… how is that possible?" he mused. "Agathe said only I would remember those other timelines."

"And she was right," the Enchanter replied, taking a casual bite from his apple. "But there are always exceptions, rare as they might be. Normally, two things need to happen to restore a person's alternative memories. First, you need a strong emotional bond formed between the time traveller and the individual involved. Second, the couple must confirm this bond through an intimate act like kissing or expressing their feelings. The magic flows from the time traveller to the recipient, allowing them to remember the same things as their host. But... it gets more complicated than that."

Adam groaned. "Doesn't it always?"

"Sometimes, magic can cause an adverse reaction when it's passed from one body to another," Agathon continued. "Some recipients are lucky to only get mild symptoms, like nosebleeds or headaches. In more extreme cases, the relapse of memories can overstimulate the brain and trigger a seizure. In Belle's case, she's currently confined to your castle, delirious and suffering from a high fever. None of the servants know what her illness is or what caused it."

Adam bit his lip, deeply unsettled by this explanation. It was like he'd been punched in the gut with a pair of brass knuckles, causing his eyes to water and a queasy sensation to build in his stomach. "Is it possible for her to... die from these memories?" he managed to ask.

"No." Agathon smiled reassuringly. "She's young, and her body will learn to fight off her illness in time. But as for her mind... well, I'm sorry to say there's a good chance she'll never be the same again. Whether you like it or not, Your Highness, Belle will always remember her connection to you after today."

Adam sank even further into his armchair, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. "I didn't want this to happen," he said in a trembling voice. "I wanted Belle to live a normal life without me influencing her decisions. I told your sister I wanted her to be free of me. That's what I wanted, goddammit!"

"You told her you wanted Belle to follow her dreams and make her own choices," Agathon calmly corrected. "It seems to me, despite all your efforts at keeping her at bay, the girl has _still_ chosen you."

Adam opened his mouth, trying to find a flaw in that statement, but failing. "But… why?" he asked instead. How could Belle fall for him, a cynical man with a tainted track record, who still couldn't stop himself from lashing out at his servants when he was angry? Maybe Belle hadn't seen that side of him yet, but that didn't mean he wasn't aware of it. None of this made sense, yet the question lingered.

Agathon sighed and rolled his eyes. "Are you really going to make me spell it out for you? _You_ took an interest in her. _You_ listened to her ideas and respected her as an individual. You never took advantage of her or forced her to do anything against her will. The whole foundation of your friendship was built on consent and mutual understanding. And to be honest, I don't think that kiss would have affected her so severely unless her heart had already decided—"

 _"No!"_ Adam howled again. But even as he said it, he couldn't help but wonder.

Since the start of their "friendship," he had often worried that Belle was spending time with him out of obligation, not amity. To test the theory, he'd told her that they didn't have to spend every day together. She was free to talk with the staff in the kitchens or go home early whenever she pleased. But Belle had _insisted_ she was happy to pass the time with him. That she too wanted to experience a friendship with someone who shared in her interests. And so, those afternoons became a welcome routine for both of them. She'd stayed with him willingly, fallen in love with him willingly, and Adam had been too busy wrestling with his own conflicted emotions to notice. _Oh, I am fortune's fool!_ If Lumière could see him now, he'd surely be making a jest of how short-sighted he'd been.

"I suppose I have to go back to her now," he resolved. "Tell her I'm sorry for lying to her, and hope she'll have the heart to forgive me. That's why you're here, isn't it? To make me change my mind?"

"On the contrary." Agathon smirked. "You're a busy man, Your Highness. It's clear you've got more doors open to you now than you did five years ago. With all your royal commitments, winning the heart of a peasant girl is probably on the bottom of your to-do list! Agathe just wanted me to let you know what to expect when you return to your castle. It's up to you to decide what to do with that information."

Adam scowled. If he didn't know better, he'd think that Agathon was mocking him for putting duty over his heart. As if he'd _ever_ made the decision to let Belle go lightly! But there was still one thing he needed to know before he made his final decision. "Suppose I go forward with my meeting with the Duke and his niece, and never make contact with Belle again. What will happen to her?"

"She'll move on... in time," Agathon admitted hesitantly. "With no one to confirm her memories, she'll eventually pass them off as fever dreams. She and Maurice will move to another town, where she'll spend her prime years going on _some_ of the adventures she's always dreamed about. But deep down, she'll never be able to shake off the feeling that something's missing from her life. She'll never be able to stop thinking of what might have been… if the visions of you and her were real."

 _Damn._ Adam stared at the floor in guilt. He knew that pain all too well, from all the years he'd spent, trying to forget Belle's face and the memories of spending time with her. He'd wasted half a decade trying to distance himself, knowing it was the only way to give her the freedom she rightfully deserved. But he'd failed, hurting her all the same, and now she would never be able to forget him. The tables had turned, and this time, Adam could see no clear way out of his predicament.

"And... if I go back to her?" he said hesitantly. "Will she be angry with me for lying to her?"

"She might." Agathon shrugged. "As you know, that girl can be as impulsive as she can be stubborn. But I think after she had a bit of time to stew, she'd start thinking less about why you _didn't_ tell her, and more about why you returned."

Adam quietly contemplated this. It wasn't the most encouraging outcome, but it did give him _some_ hope. Maybe there was a chance he could still make amends with Belle, or at least, make her understand why he'd never told her the truth. If she refused to talk to him again after that confession, he wouldn't stop her. It was still her life, and he had no right to interfere with it, no matter what the past said. He respected her enough to let her make her own decisions in that regard. "I guess I know what my decision is, then," he resolved.

"So it seems." Agathon smiled and extended his hand to him. In his fingers, he held a tiny, cylindrical vial containing a clear liquid. "Have her drink this when you see her. It's a potion that will ease the flow of her memories so her body will heal faster. I'd give it to her myself, only I'm pretty sure it would look less suspicious coming from you than from a complete stranger."

"Thank you." Adam accepted the vial dutifully. But the words didn't come close to the gratitude he felt for the Enchanter at that moment. He was fully indebted to him for coming here and helping him think clearly for the first time in ages.

"Best get a move on, Your Highness," Agathon prompted. "There's a lot of road between Courbecour and the Château de la Rose."

_"Master?"_

Adam opened his eyes, which was strange because he didn't remember closing them. He was sitting on his bed again, watching the rain streak against the windows. Turning around, he was startled to see his valet standing by the door, eyeing him with a puzzled expression. Even more alarming was that Agathon had mysteriously vanished from the room. Almost as though he'd never been there at all.

"Erm... good evening, Chapeau," Adam said in unease. "What are you doing here?"

"You rang the bell for me?" Chapeau replied with a confused tilt of his head. "I arrived as quickly as I could."

Adam furrowed his brows, trying to make sense of this information. Had his encounter with Agathon been a hallucination, or a trick of the Enchantress, testing to see if his love for Belle was still true?

Looking down at his hand, he was surprised to notice that he was still holding the vial Agathon had given him. His heart pounded with adrenaline at the sight of it. Suddenly, he knew exactly what he needed to do.

He stood up from the bed and went to retrieve his coat from the wardrobe. "I have to leave."

 _"Leave?"_ Chapeau looked as though his master had decided to renounce his crown to live as a hermit in the woods. "But… where? It's after sundown. You can't be thinking of going anywhere now!"

"I need to return to the Château de la Rose," Adam replied curtly. "There's been an emergency. Something's happened to Belle."

If Chapeau wondered how the Prince knew something had happened to Belle despite the lack of evidence, he didn't ask. Instead, he said, "Master, you said you wanted to come all this way so you could get a head-start on your meeting with the Duke de Pontavice tomorrow. And now you're telling me that you're going to ride for five hours in the rain, just to see Mademoiselle Gagnier?"

"To hell with what I said before," Adam growled. "I love her!" He would never forget how good it felt to say those words out loud. "She means more to me than any meeting with the Duke de Pontavice ever will. I'm not expecting you to come with me, but I need you to understand—"

"Master, I _do_ understand, but hear me out!" Chapeau cut in. "It's pouring rain outside, and you know how dangerous the roads can be at this time of night. At least give the rain some time to clear up first. We can think about arranging transportation once the weather improves."

Adam crossed his arms and scowled. He'd rather not wait at all. Hell, he'd ride on horseback the entire way back to the castle if he could. But reluctantly, he saw his valet's point. It would do no good to leave now, and risk tiring out his horse or catching a cold from the rain. He would simply have to wait for this storm to pass and hope nothing worse would happen to Belle in the meantime.

"Very well," he decided. "But I intend to leave as soon as the rain stops. I don't care if you accompany me or not."

"Understood, sire." Chapeau nodded vigorously, as though he would do anything not to disappoint him.

* * *

The rain continued to fall until after midnight. Once it ceased, Chapeau arranged for a carriage to take his master back to the Château de la Rose. Though he tried to stay awake, Adam dozed off several times during the five-hour return trip. His sleep was far from restful. Several times, he'd awaken from a disturbing nightmare about Belle dying or getting into a horrific accident, and the servants holding him responsible. That only added to his anxiety, preventing him from getting any more sleep for the rest of the journey.

It was a little after six o'clock when the Château de la Rose finally appeared through the carriage window. Since they'd returned so soon, Adam almost feared that he was still dreaming. He wasn't even sure if Agathon's warning was real or a vision, rooted in his guilt over lying to Belle. A glance at the vial in his jacket pocket told him it wasn't, but he still felt uncertain.

Once they arrived at the front steps of the castle, Adam dismounted the carriage and dashed through the main doors, determined not to waste a minute finding Belle. However, his plan was soon thwarted as he nearly collided with Chip Potts in the atrium.

"Master?!" the boy said, looking up at the Prince in alarm.

Adam took a step back, mirroring Chip's startled expression. He'd been avoiding the lad for some time now—not because he disliked him, but because he had recently turned thirteen, the same age he was when his life had changed for the worse. Even now, as he looked at the boy, Adam had to remind himself that Chip _wasn't_ him. He was a thriving young stablekeeper, who lived a healthy childhood with two parents who loved him. His upbringing would never be the same as his own. All because he had found a way to undo the curse without Belle's help.

"Chip," he said urgently. "Where is Belle?"

"Belle?" Chip's eyes widened. "Well, she—"

"Listen, I know she's ill, and I know she's staying here as a patient," he added. "Just take me to her. _Please."_

Chip knew better than to defy an order from the Master. He nodded rigidly and led him down to the servants' quarters.

Adam's heart stopped the moment he saw Belle's sickly appearance through the open doorway. Even from this distance, her skin looked pale as milk, and her brow was glistening with sweat. He immediately thought of the last time he'd seen her like this and how she had passed away shortly after. _But this won't be like the last time,_ he told himself. He had Agathon's potion with him, and his assurance that Belle was going to get better. This wouldn't be the end for her. Not now.

He entered the room and handed his hat to an alarmed Mrs. Potts, who had likely just stepped in to check on her. He reminded himself to thank her for doing this later.

As he approached the bed, Belle slowly turned to him with weary, half-opened eyes. "Adam?" she called out to him.

"Yes, Belle. It's me."

"I... had a dream about you," she said groggily. "You saved me from a pack of wolves in the forest. And then from a life on the streets, and some bandits. Are you still that same man?"

Adam nodded while trying to ignore the painful lump growing in his throat. _Agathon was right. She really_ is _remembering everything._

Belle smiled at him weakly. "I don't want to fall asleep," she admitted in a soft voice. "I'm afraid when I wake up, you'll be gone again, and this will all be another dream. You're always leaving me."

"I'm not leaving this time," he vowed. "I'm staying here until you get better."

"Do you promise?" she asked.

"I promise."

She extended her hand to him, and Adam used the moment to press the potion into her palm and wrap her fingers around it. "I need you to drink this for me," he directed. "It will help."

Belle nodded obediently as he uncorked the vial and helped her bring it to her lips. She swallowed the contents like a child dying of thirst, then closed her eyes and fell away into a peaceful slumber. A throng of servants—including Lumière, Plumette, and Cogsworth—gathered outside the door to observe this occurrence, but Adam barely noticed. So long as Belle was in his care, he would do everything in his power to make her well again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize this is not my best chapter writing-wise, and I apologize for that. February was a stressful month for me, and the sudden death of my grandfather (who's been a part of my life since forever) was the cherry on top of it. But I hope to be back to a writing mood again soon so I can wrap this story up. I estimate I have two or three more chapters left. Thank you all for your patience and kind reviews!


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